


Every Fangirl's Dream

by QueenMab3



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Post Reichenbach, References to Suicide, Shouty!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMab3/pseuds/QueenMab3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if you woke up in Sherlock's universe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, actually a fic of any sort. Haven't written anything that wasn't for work, college (and that's been ages), or anything boring in longer than I can quantify. I don't have a beta/britpicker, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Any and all comments are appreciated. We have such an awesome fandom!

When she woke up in a London hotel room sixteen days ago Eva had no idea how she’d gotten there. To be specific this was _a_ London, not _her_ London, a distinction that couldn’t be stressed enough. She was wearing the same clothes she’d worn to work that morning, had her purse, laptop, and everything else she was carrying as well. Even her travel mug of coffee was present on the bedside table and was miraculously still warm.

Eva quickly took personal inventory and found she wasn’t injured, groggy, or even in possession of so much as a headache. To her infinite relief her clothes were fully intact. Her phone even still sort of worked. The internet pulled up, apps still worked, but none of the calls she made to anyone in her contact list worked. It was like the numbers didn’t exist. On a lark she dialed a random number found in the room’s phone book and was easily connected to a sushi restaurant in Soho. 

Unsure what to do, but not willing to wait on the person who had deposited her in the room, she grabbed her stuff and got as far away from the place as possible. She hailed the first taxi she saw and gave him her Kensington address, startled to see that she was only a few miles away. 

Eva headed into her building’s courtyard, only to be confronted with a hair salon where her apartment should be. And so began the _bad bit_ as Eva thought of it. A few hours of frantic walking finally led her to a nearly deserted coffee shop. She checked her phone again, more out of habit than anything, and finally noticed the date. May 16, 2014. It should have said June 25, 2012.

That was when the fandom thoughts started creeping in. It turned out to be the wrong fandom, but the time travel wibbly wobbly part was a mistake anyone would make, she reasoned later. She confirmed the date with as many newspapers as she could find and set about combing through each one for any clue.

A couple pages into the News section of the Daily Mail she got her first sign that she greatly misunderstood what had happened. There was a short blurb noting that consulting detective Sherlock Holmes just solved a case involving a woman kept prisoner in a Hampshire estate.  It was accompanied by a very familiar picture of Holmes in a deerstalker hat, cheekbones prominently visible over the upturned collar of his coat. It must have been a joke, she reasoned, a promotional piece for the BBC show.

Eva poured over the remaining stories, but came back to the Sherlock picture when the search turned up nothing else. The image nagged at her, so she did a quick Google search on her phone for one Sherlock Holmes. She got results, but nothing like she expected. No Wikipedia entry for the Arthur Conan Doyle stories, no IMDB page for the television series, and certainly no Tumblr links. She found the Science of Deduction website and John Watson’s blog, but no fan art or stories.

Out of a need to do _something_ she hailed another cab and asked to be taken to Speedy’s café on Baker Street. Twenty minutes later she was sipping a cup of tea at one of the dingy tables. She wanted to know how in the hell this was possible. Speedy’s was, indeed, real, but was on Gower Street. Yet there she sat next to 221B _Baker_ Street.

Eva good and truly almost fainted when Una Stubbs (or Mrs. Hudson as she’d started to suspect) exited the iconic door and headed down the street. Knowing she needed much more information and that she wouldn’t be able to take catching sight of anyone else, she quickly left the little restaurant.

If her flat wasn’t there, then she’d need a hotel. Nothing fancy, just something with an internet connection. Expecting the worst, she tried her own bank card at the front desk. It went through without a problem. So, her phone still worked and her debit card was still good. Neither of which made a bit of sense.

Eva spent the next several hours chasing down every bit of information she could remember. She found the full length Baskerville documentary, articles describing Irene Adler’s part in a famous writer’s divorce, an obituary for Jeff Hope, John’s military service record, and all of it looked legitimate. If this was some elaborate hoax then the entire Internet was in on it.

She came up empty when she tried to find herself, however. No address, no phone number, no social media presence, nothing. Eva Harrison simply didn’t exist.

Okay, she thought, time to bring out the big guns. Eva was a professional hacker, for lack of a better word. Companies hired her to try and break into their systems in order to discover vulnerabilities. She’d refrained from using any of her unsavory tricks until this point, but now deemed it a necessity.

Within hours she’d amassed a large amount of data, but wasn’t sure how helpful it would be. She had credit reports, bank information, school transcripts, health records, and a number of other odds and ends for everyone from Mrs. Hudson (with an unexpected first name of Eleanor) to Greg Lestrade. Out of respect she didn’t read most of it, but the fact that it was there to find was very telling. It was further evidence that these were indeed real people.

While Eva was confident that she could weasel information about Mycroft from government servers, but the risk of alerting his people was too great. Eva didn’t need Mycroft’s attention at the moment, not when she was without a plan.

She had to figure out something pretty soon though. Her money wasn’t infinite and hotel bills were going to take a good chunk out of what little she had. She’d also had to buy a small pile of new clothes to supplement her lone outfit. A suitable, if tad illegal, solution presented itself on her third day in this new world. She’d branched into researching ancillary characters when she discovered a questionable little offshore bank account of one Sebastian Wilkes.

It seemed he was funding a rather pricey call girl (or call boy, she wasn’t judging) habit from it. _Very_ pricey if the account’s balance was any indication. She skimmed 25,000 pounds into an account of her own in the name of Cashmere Personal Investing. That sounded enough like a poorly disguised escort service for her needs. After it went unnoticed for another week she was confident the idiot hadn’t caught on. Well if he was dumb enough not to miss 25,000 quid he deserved to be relieved of it for a worthy cause.

She contemplated her problem from every conceivable angle and came up with one solution: Sherlock Holmes. The world’s only consulting detective was the sole person she could think of that could make sense of it all. She had a mountain of data, but couldn’t suss out what it all meant, if anything. Plus, there was the added bonus of actually getting to meet John and Sherlock. She knew a legion of fans would gladly sacrifice an appendage for such an honor.

So, sixteen days after her ordeal began she left her hotel and set off to break into 221B Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

The flat was silent as Eva eased open the kitchen window. It was sloppy of the boys to leave it open, but convenient for her needs. They had archenemies for God’s sake and they leave a window open? Courting danger, she supposed. She studied up on lock picking on the internet, but didn’t trust her rudimentary skills. She’d probably wake up the entire building trying to get in. The window was a nice surprise.

Eva knew they’d just solved a case and figured this was the best time to catch Sherlock asleep with a full stomach, a rare occurrence. It was just after 3 AM when she set up camp at the table in the sitting room. She’d stood there for a good fifteen minutes just taking it all in. The wallpaper complete with spray paint smiley face, the skull sporting headphones, and the correspondence pinned to the mantle with a knife were just as she remembered them. But, they were no longer the brainchild of a production designer. This is where _they_ lived.

By the time John tromped down the stairs just after eight Eva was on their wireless network, had commandeered Sherlock’s laptop, and managed to find three audio bugs and destroy them. The electronic detritus was in a neat pile on the table. She presumed they were Mycroft’s, but couldn’t be 100% sure. She’d half expected Mycroft’s people to show up after she broke in, but apparently wasn’t deemed enough of a threat.

John didn’t see her at first. He was a picture of sleepy obliviousness in his striped dressing gown, t-shirt, and pajama pants. He was halfway to the kitchen when she heard his footfalls stop. Eva flashed him a grin, “Morning John. I hope you don’t mind if I call you John. Dr. Watson is so formal.”

Living with Sherlock must have inured him to such strange encounters, since he resumed his trek to the kitchen grunting, “John’s fine,” along the way.

He made tea and sunk into his chair a few minutes later, cuppa in hand. He looked at her expectantly, but didn’t say anything. Eva turned around the chair she’d been using, rather than occupy Sherlock’s leather one. He’d be up eventually.

“I’m glad you’re up first John. There are some things to talk about that you might not want Sherlock to hear.”

“Would have been nice for him to let me know we were having a houseguest.”

“He didn’t know. You really should lock the kitchen window. It was super easy to get in.”

His face reddened, “You broke into our flat?”

“Yes, but I have good reasons and I only did it so you’d hear me out. Wouldn’t Mycroft have sent a squad of commandos here if I meant to hurt you or Sherlock? I’ve been here for hours and nary a peep from the British government.”

“Fucking wonderful. Mycroft is involved in this?”

“No John. I’m sorry, but that piece I’ll have to save for when Sherlock joins us. I assume he’ll be out for another couple of hours at least.”

John kept his voice neutral, but she could see the tension in his body. He hadn’t taken the first sip of his tea. “Probably. I’ll give you five minutes to make a convincing enough case not to call Scotland Yard.”

“Okay John, that’s more than fair. I think we can do this without involving Lestrade unnecessarily.”  She shifted and leaned forward, “I know that within 48 hours of meeting Sherlock Holmes you gunned down Jeff Hope to save his life. I know that you hit on Anthea after Mycroft kidnapped you the first time. Rather unsuccessfully. I know that you see the battlefield when you walk with Sherlock Holmes and that he thinks he can gauge the quality of a Chinese restaurant by the bottom third of the door handle. I know that the last thing you said to him face-to-face before his fall was that he was a machine, that you asked for one more miracle at his grave, and that you lied to him about Irene to spare his feelings.”

“How did you. . . “

She was on a roll now and wanted to send the point home, “He nicked an ashtray from Buckingham Palace for you, once Mycroft finally convinced him to put his clothes on. He was scared out of his mind after that first night on the moor, but was still able to tell you all about the woman and her son the fisherman.  You’re the one that didn’t tell him to piss off when he deduced everything about you and that he didn’t hesitate to repeatedly drop a CIA agent out the window for assaulting Mrs. Hudson.”

The voice from the doorway startled Eva. As focused as she was on John she’d failed to notice Sherlock’s approach. “I’d love to know where you’ve come by your information.” The voice was cool and aloof, just as she’d expected.

He looked like he’d stepped from a publicity still with his grey t-shirt, blue dressing gown, dark curls, and thin frame. She was determined not to be intimidated though. “Hello Sherlock. Trust you slept well after finishing your last case?” He didn’t reply, but leaned on the doorframe with a piercing look on his face. “I’m Eva, sorry John I neglected to introduce myself earlier.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted around, taking in all the new details, she assumed. “Go on then. Deduce away. I must admit I’ve always wanted to see this bit in person.”

Eva tried to picture what Sherlock saw. A petite woman in her early thirties, casually dressed in jeans, purple Converse trainers, and a charcoal cable-knit jumper. Her dark hair was pulled up in a simple high ponytail, but several escaped strands framed her pale face. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but undoubtedly Sherlock would glean some small personality quirk after noting the absence.

He was off without a preamble, “Not new to London, but you haven’t been to your home in several weeks. Computer programmer, no, no hacker, I’d say white hat though. Only child, one dog, but you haven’t seen it in a while, you’re left handed, and you’re not here for blackmail. Is that my laptop?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I needed a second screen.”

“John’s was closer.”

“John’s poor laptop has been broken into enough, so I used yours. Right on all counts, by the way.”

“I know.”

“Modest as ever Sherlock.”

 “What do you want?”

“Your help. I’m your new client.”

“I _rather_ think I have a bit of a say in whether I take you on as a client.”

“You’ll take my case. I’m not done with show and tell yet. Those were John’s I have a whole list for you and something for you both to see.”

“By all means tell me what you think you know.”

“I know about what really happened in Karachi. I thought the scimitar was a tad melodramatic, but I suppose it worked. I know Irene’s phone was SHER-locked and that you took her pulse you sneaky bastard. I know Mycroft thinks caring isn’t an advantage and that initially you wanted to be a pirate when you were little. I know that you smile when John’s done something clever, but that you don’t let him see it most of the time. I know you talk to John when he isn’t here and that Seb must have been a right prick at uni. I know you invited yourself along for John’s first date with Sarah and I’m frankly gob smacked that you didn’t know Lestrade’s first name was Greg.”

“Surveillance, obviously.”

“Do you really think I’d be able to spy on you two at Baskerville and Buckingham Palace? That Mycroft would allow surveillance in his home or the Diogenes Club?” She pointed behind her, “The phone still in there then, or have you moved it?”

“Feel free to leave now and do send Mycroft my regards.” His lip curled on the last word making it sound remarkably like a swear word.

Eva had no idea how to explain her current predicament that wouldn’t sound crazy to the two men facing her. In fact, she probably didn’t even possess the requisite vocabulary to even grasp the concepts involved. Honestly this was more like a _Doctor Who_ episode than _Sherlock_. Oh Dear God, she thought, could this be Wholock? She banished the thought, as it would only confuse things further.

“Your brother didn’t send me. I knew you’d take more convincing than that. I have a video for you two.” Eva produced an unlabeled DVD from her bag and put it into the laptop. “Now, I’m not showing you all of it, but the first ten minutes or so should be enough.” She hit play and let the sounds of assault weapon fire fill the sitting room. This was the awkward part. She moved to the couch to let the two men watch in peace. As expected, they were both enthralled.

The screen went to black after Sherlock’s tongue click. John was immediately up on his feet, shouting, “What the _hell_ was that?”

Sherlock didn’t appear visibly shaken and continued in his insouciant tone, “You’re really not doing very well at disproving my surveillance theory.”

She applied to his reason, as John was clearly not on her side at the moment. “Sherlock does that theory fit all the facts? You think somehow hundreds of cameras have been placed around you since the day you met John? Because that’s the only way someone would get those shots at those angles. Oh, and that it all would have gone unnoticed by _you_ of all people.”

She crossed the room and pulled another item from her bag. “This,” she thrust the item at Sherlock, “is the DVD cover. Where I come from this is a television show. Sherlock is played by Benedict Cumberbatch and John by Martin Freeman. As you can see, it’s quite good, albeit the source of my problem.”

“No! Those weren’t actors. That was us.” John snatched the case from Sherlock’s long fingers and scrutinized it himself. “It’s empty.”

“Course its empty John. If you got upset over ten minutes worth then God help me if you saw the whole thing.” She paused and sunk back into her chair. “I don’t know how to explain it, but sixteen days ago I woke up in a hotel room in this . . . _reality_ I guess you’d call it. All the stuff I was carrying, including that DVD, was with me, but I found out that the show wasn’t a show here. It was real and I have no idea how and I’d very much like to go home.”

“You’re obviously very troubled.” Sherlock’s drawl, while endearing on television, grated on her nerves at present.

“Come on Sherlock! If I was just a nutter how would I have that footage?” She turned to John, grateful that his anger seemed to have abated somewhat. “John, you’re a doctor. Do I exhibit any symptoms that would indicate this is a delusion?”

“Well no, but . . .”

“Examine me if you like or have Sarah do it. Is she still around? I only know what happens through the jump off Bart’s. Give me an MRI, run any test you want. You’ll also find that my prints don’t turn up anywhere, although I will admit I could have tampered with those records easily enough myself.”

“So,” Sherlock grabbed the case from John’s slack grip, “you’d have us believe that,” he scrutinized the back, “Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss created us.”

“Well they created the show, but not John and Sherlock. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle took care of that over one hundred and fifty years ago. Gatiss and Moffat modernized it- er you. And not to confuse things further, but Mark Gatiss is the one the plays Mycroft.”

Sherlock’s hands were tented beneath his chin, which Eva took as a good sign.  Hopefully he was sorting through this all and coming to the correct conclusion. John sagged back into his chair, a dazed look on his face.

“I want to see all of it.” Sherlock’s lids were closed, but she noticed his eyes darting beneath the almost translucent skin.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

His eyes snapped open again and she found herself stuck squarely in his pale gaze. “I need more data. If what you say is true the rest of the footage should be of the same quality. Right now I only have your word that there is tape of Baskerville and all the rest.” Well, at least he’d said _if._ That had to be a step in the right direction. He continued, “I must say it’s terribly convenient that you happen to have these DVDs on your person when you . . .  jumped realities to use your term.”

 “I was bringing them to a girl at work. Sherlockians are always trying to convert others. We’re a very dedicated fandom.”

John let out a snort, “Well of course you would be. He’s stalking about with his coat, and scarf, and those damned cheekbones. Women must love it.”

“Yeah there’s that, but you’ve got quite the following too due to all your badassery.”

John seemed confused, “Badassery?”

“Well yeah, you’re hardcore under all those jumpers. Pulling rank at Baskerville, making a shot like that from another building, tackling the Golem, hell just punching Sherlock in the face for that ridiculous mugged priest charade was brilliant. Not to mention the army doctor part and standing up to Mycroft ‘the British Government’ Holmes. I nearly died when you asked him about Smurfs and Action Man.”

“Oh God now he’ll be hell to live with.” Sherlock seemed bored with the praise for John.

“Then you’ll know what it’s like.”

“I don’t care how many nice things she says you’re not allowed to date a client.”

“Since when?”

“Always. Especially since this one might have a brain tumor. She certainly believes what she’s saying though, so I don’t think she’s a danger to us.”

“So I’m a client then.”

“At the very least your brain would be interesting to study.”

“Just to be clear you are not dissecting or in any way removing tissue, fluid, or cells of any sort from my brain Sherlock.”

“Damn. We’ll start with the rest of the videos then.”

“Hold on, there’s stuff in there that I’m sure you wouldn’t want to dredge up. There’s all that business with Irene, the fall, Moriarty . . . “

“I can take it and if John’s such a _badass_ I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“I want to see them.” John insisted quietly.

“Okay, but it’s going to take at least nine hours. You don’t have shift at the surgery later, do you? No statements to make to Lestrade about the last case?”

“No,” he continued to stare at his untouched tea and abruptly snapped his head up searching her eyes with his own. “It’s really disconcerting you knowing all this about us.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that John, but you two are the only ones I could think of that could help.” She did know a lot, but it was confusing to be this far into the timeline with no additional information. Eva decided to get one of the more pressing questions out of the way. “John, can I ask you something?”

“Do make it quick. If you want me on the case I suggest we begin now.”

“Is it possible that I’m in a mental ward somewhere and this is all in my head?”

He swiped a hand through his sandy hair and thought for a moment. “I _suppose_ it is. I mean _I_ think this is real, but after what I’ve seen so far who the hell knows.”

“ _I’d_ know if you two would stop blathering on and on.” There was a part of Eva that wanted to hit him and part that irrationally wanted to get a picture with him. She was reminded of one fan that called him the world’s only consulting toddler. That about summed it up. This was weirder than she anticipated.

She produced four more unmarked discs from her bag and proceeded to link the laptop to their television. It would drive them all mad to stare at the small screen for such a long time. Sherlock noticed, _of course_ he noticed, that she didn’t have original DVDs and asked about it.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take all this, so the originals are locked away in several safety deposit boxes throughout the city.”

He grunted in reply and Eva didn’t know if it was in approval or not. He resumed impatiently pacing in front of the couch. While she strung cables John went upstairs to change.

“How long did you let him think you were dead?” The question was out before she could stop it.

He stopped and slowly turned his head to face her, the movement reminiscent of a predatory bird. “Nine months, three weeks, five days, and thirteen hours.” The words were cool and measured.

“Was he . . . was he alright?”

“No. The limp had returned and the nightmares were worse.” His tone when vehement, and he all but spat the words out, “I did what I had to. If I didn’t they all would have died. It was the only way.”

“I know, but it couldn’t have been easy on anyone, including you Sherlock. Are you both up to seeing it again?”

“Don’t have much of a choice, do we?”

“I suppose not. Thank you, by the way, for not having me locked up. I appreciate you even going this far.”

“Hmmmm,” was his only reply.

John walked into the kitchen wearing jeans and a very familiar oatmeal jumper, his feet were bare, she noticed. “That’s Sherlock for you’re welcome.”

She blushed, hoping he only caught the end of their exchange. “Thanks for interpreting.”

John must have put the kettle on again, because he returned with three mugs of tea. “Didn’t know how you took yours, but there’s milk and sugar in the kitchen.” He must have caught her smirk. “What?”

Eva made her way towards the fridge, calling over her shoulder. “Nothing, it’s just that I’m surprised to find you have milk. You’re almost always out.” She silently cursed the fandom for being so damned observant and obsessive. She’d probably faint if Sherlock wore that purple shirt or if John so much as mentioned jam.

“You really did your homework.” Gratefully she noticed that John’s humor seemed to be returning.

“Come now John, half of London knows when we need milk, as much as you go on about it.” Eva grinned as she prepared her tea. Apparently Johnlock hadn’t happened yet, judging by the unrealized sexual tension in the room. She knew damn well it didn’t have a thing to do with her. Men could be so obtuse sometimes, she mused, no matter what reality.

Once she pressed play Eva settled onto the far end of the couch, under the smiley face and John took the other end. Sherlock perched on his chair, knees drawn up, looking very much like a large child. The dust floated in the sunlight slanting through the front windows and she was struck for the umpteenth time how _real_ this was.

For the next several hours Eva watched the plots unfold with the very men who lived them. They kept quiet even when discs were swapped out. She didn’t know how to take that, but did see an occasional smile from them from time to time. Finally when screen Sherlock dialed John’s mobile from the rooftop she couldn’t take it. She went into the kitchen and started cleaning, just to give them a bit of space. She could still hear everything, but didn’t want to see them watch it. Unbidden tears streamed down her face when she heard John’s graveyard speech.

Resolutely scrubbing out a stubborn chemical stain, she heard the men enter the tiny kitchen several minutes later. She turned to face them and caught sight of John’s puffy eyes and noticed that Sherlock’s face was even paler than usual. His maddening eyes, however, were bright and focused.

John cleared his throat and began, “Right, well that was odd and then horrible.”

“Eva you’re staying here for the foreseeable future. The three bugs you found were the only ones I knew about, but Mycroft may have others. I don’t want him kidnapping you for a _chat_. If he was listening and wants to talk to you he can do it here. I’m sure we’ll have to involve him at some point, but I’d like to refrain for as long as possible.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Lestrade run your prints and name through every database he can. I’ll get Molly to set some tests up at Bart’s. John, do you have the supplies here to draw some blood? I’d like to start my own analysis tonight.” He darted from thought to thought with a speed that was astounding. Sherlock’s brain was probably even quicker, his mouth only making a valiant effort to keep up.

“So you think there’s something medically wrong with me?”

“No, actually I don’t, but we have to rule it out all the same. John, can you take the sample?” The tone was impatient, but he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, an affectionate casual gesture. Sociopath my arse, she thought.

“Uh yeah, let me get my bag.” He headed upstairs and Sherlock went through the kitchen to his own room, ostensibly to change clothes.

Eva meandered back into the sitting room and slumped onto the couch. She’d sat around all day and watched telly, but was exhausted. John came down a few moments later, medical bag in tow. He settled himself on the cushion next to her and started prepping her right arm. His movements were precise and sure. He noticed her flinch when he took the needle from its sterile packaging.

“Don’t like needles?”

“Not so much, no.”

“You’ll hardly feel a thing. I was the best in my class at drawing blood, I promise.”

She gave him a watery smile, “Thanks John.”

“Just relax and focus on something else in the room.”

She did feel it, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as she remembered from her last hospital visit. He quickly drew three small vials and had her bandaged up in a few minutes. Sherlock entered and slipped into his suit jacket. Thank God it was a white shirt. Eva didn’t think she could manage the purple one while she was still reeling from the needle. But, true to form, the buttons looked like they’d abandon ship at any moment. How did he get them so tight? It was like he shopped in a really posh boy’s clothing store.

“John I hope you took at least two vials, because –“ John cut him off holding up the three he’d just labeled. “Oh, excellent. I want to run quite a few tests.”

He looked smugly at the tall man, “Thought you might,” and handed the glass tubes over.

Sherlock deposited them in his breast pocket and continued donning his long coat and scarf.

“What about a hair sample? If I was drugged I’ve long since metabolized it, but can’t some toxins show up in your hair even months after the fact?”

“That’s a good idea Eva. We’d need to get the root though.” John looked apologetic.

“Not a problem. Needles I don’t like, but most women can endure lots of hair pain without a flinch.” She promptly leaned over John, exposing the underside of her hair. “Take it from the back if you don’t mind.” He pulled a pair of tweezers or forceps from his back and plucked a bunch of hairs from proffered section of hair. Eva sat up and grinned at John. “See, easy as pie.”

“Sherlock do you have –” before he could finish a glassine envelope materialized as if by magic in Sherlock’s long white fingers. He passed it to John with a look on his face that Eva thought might be disapproval. She didn’t know if it was because she’d thought of something before him or her familiarity with the good doctor. Hopefully it was both, but she didn’t want the detective to get tetchy just as he took her case.

“Sherlock I didn’t say it earlier, but your deductions about me were amazing. I’m surprised you don’t hear it more often, but I just wanted to let you know.”

“I . . . er . . .”

“He means thank you.” John shot her a covert wink.

Sherlock continued in a brisk tone. “John she can have my room, but it might do to keep your gun handy tonight.” Without a goodbye he swept through the door and flew down the stairs. Eva caught a fond smile cross John’s face, but it was gone when he noticed her attention.

“Please tell me he doesn’t wear that thing in the heat of summer.”

John laughed and gathered up the medical rubbish, “Yeah actually he does, the stupid git. If he’d gain some weight he wouldn’t have to flap about in that thing, but it’s hard enough to get him to eat what he does.”  He sighed and moved to the kitchen. “Speaking of food, I’m starving. You want some takeaway?”

“Yeah that would be great.”

They were polishing off the Mongolian chicken when she finally got the nerve to broach the subject. “John, I don’t mean to pry, but –“

“It’s a tad late for that, don’t you think?” she kept her mouth shut, “go on then Eva.”

“I mean you know what I know, but now that I’ve seen you two together in person . . . I just can’t help but wonder. Christ this is difficult! I mean I know you’re straight and Sherlock is, well Sherlock, but . . . oh God I’m sorry I even –“

To her surprise John laughed. “You’re not the first to ask and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

“But you love him though, right?” She clamped a hand over her mouth in shock that she’d just blurted it out like that.

He blushed, but held her gaze, “Yeah I do. He’s an arse and I must be mad, but I do love him. I don’t even know if he. . .” It was his turn to grapple with words, “I mean Irene and Mycroft seem to think he’s a virgin, but I don’t know. How could anyone that fucking gorgeous never have had sex?”

“I figure he must have, even if it was just to gather data for an experiment or whatever rot he’d tell himself to justify it.” John goggled at her and laughed until he clutched at his sides.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to keep a straight face the next time he whines that something is _for science John_.” He deepened his voice to imitate Sherlock’s baritone drawl.

“You know that a lot of the fandom is totally rooting for you two to get together.”

“That’s all well and good, but he’s married to his work, you know that.”

“You’re part of his work. Did you ever think of that? And come on it takes two to eye fuck John.”

“Eye fuck? We don’t . . . oh God we do, don’t we?”

“Yeah you do.” She studied the problem at hand and started to go over the facts, “So, he’s never been with anyone that you know of, but come on a grown man can’t completely repress his libido. He’s got to have a wank in the shower at least occasionally, right?”

“I can’t believe I’m talking about Sherlock wanking off in the shower with a woman I met this morning after she broke into our flat.” John buried his face in his hands, but she saw the smile on his lips. “It does feel good to actually talk to someone about this though. Ella tried to get me to admit it out loud after the funeral, but I couldn’t do it. Especially since I thought he was gone. Couldn’t let myself go there.”

“I’m so sorry you had to watch that today. That must have been awful.”

“It bloody well was, but you know Sherlock. He wouldn’t have rested until he saw every last minute. And at least I knew it was all a trick this time around.”

“So you’ve never admitted this out loud to anyone?”

“No, and here I go to an almost complete stranger. I must be crazy.”

“You can’t help who you love John.” Conciliatory, clichéd words, she knew, but she supposed they were a platitude for a reason.

“That’s what I keep telling myself. You know the fact that he’s a man doesn’t even give me pause anymore. I used to worry so much about the gay/straight thing, but after the fall it just didn’t matter. When he came back I didn’t tell him, because I just wanted him back.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. “I’m afraid that I’d ruin things if I told him. That he wouldn’t know what to do about it. I know he feels things. That sociopath talk is shit, but he doesn’t always know what to do about what he feels. I’m worried he’d just shut me out.”

“I really don’t think he would John.  Listen, I know nobody knows him like you, but try to look at it from Sherlock’s perspective. He knows that the times people mistook you for a couple early on you shut them down.” John’s expression turned horrified and ashamed, “Don’t look like that John. I understand why. You hadn’t sussed it out yet for yourself and ‘gay’ probably was never the right label for you anyway. I always think of you as SHER-sexual.”

John laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. “That’s what I am, bloody SHER-sexual. I’m terrified that if we . . . started anything he’d eventually get bored with it and I wouldn’t just be able to turn those feelings off like a tap.”

“That’s a little unfair John. You’re dooming it to fail before anything’s even happened. Give the man a little credit. He hasn’t gotten bored with you as a flatmate or as a part of his work. Hell he had a chance to start clean after the fall, but he came back. He came back here. To you.”

John stared down at his hands, not making eye contact. “Listen John I’m sorry. I feel like I know you both, but I’ve probably overstepped.”

He looked up with an almost blank look on his face. “No Eva it’s something I needed to hear and to talk about. The internal arguments only get me so far. But, I think getting you sorted may be the simpler of our problems.” He offered her a small smile and took a swig of his beer. “So what about you Eva? Anyone at home waiting for you?”

“No, aside from my friends I’m on my own. I’m not seeing anyone and my parents are both gone. My job tends to scare most blokes off. When they realize I could probably expose most of the lies they tell me with a couple lines of code they tend to back off.”

“That’s a hell of a double standard. It’d be like a woman getting intimidated by the fact I’m a doctor and she isn’t.”

“It’s just different for guys. I thought about downplaying my job, but damn it I should be able to talk to my boyfriend about my work. I’m one of the ones in my field that _can_ talk about it, because I’m not up to anything illegal.”

“Is that what Sherlock meant by white hat?”

“Yes, I’m one of the good guys. I break in to find the weaknesses and fix them. Even worked with New Scotland Yard once back home. It was brilliant.”

 “Like a superhero with a computer.”

“Awww thanks John. It’s not really like that, but you’re sweet to say it.” She tried to stifle a huge yawn and failed miserably. “Sorry to cut out on you early, but I’m knackered. I’ve been up for about two days now and I’m not ruddy Sherlock Holmes. I need sleep.”

John popped up, “Eva I’m sorry I didn’t even think. Let me get you something to sleep in and I’ll open a fresh toothbrush.”

She raised her eyebrow in surprise, “Why John Watson I’d say you were used to ladies staying over unexpectedly if you keep toothbrushes in reserve.”

“No, there hasn’t been one of those in a while now. It’s Sherlock. He tends to _borrow_ mine for experiments, so I’ve learned to keep some new ones stashed away.”

“You’re a saint John. Thanks.”

“It’s no problem Eva. We’ll see about collecting your stuff tomorrow.”

“Don’t think that will be necessary, but you’re nice to offer.”

He shot her a quizzical look before he started up the stairs, but didn’t say anything. Sleep sounded absolutely wonderful. She was quickly losing steam and would crash against her will soon if she didn’t get to bed. John was quick thankfully. He offered her the promised toothbrush, a t-shirt, and flannel pajama pants. “They’ll be too long for you, but Sherlock’s would be worse. It’s nice being taller than someone in the flat for once.”

She took the offerings and pecked a quick kiss on John’s cheek. “Night John thanks for everything.”

“Goodnight Eva.” She gathered up her laptop and bag before trudging through the kitchen to Sherlock’s unusually tidy bedroom. She had to stop herself from getting a glimpse of the detective’s famous sock index. Sinking into the bed, she vowed to be a model houseguest and not a nosy fangirl. She drifted off almost immediately, thinking that the hardest part was behind her now.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock breezed in the next morning, looking for all the world like he strutted out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Eva wondered how he managed to look so damned posh after gallivanting around London all night doing God knew what. John was already up, reading the paper in his chair. He made to get up when Sherlock entered, but Eva waved him back and got the detective’s tea instead. As she expected, he took it without comment or thanks.

Sherlock did, however, motion toward a familiar bag leaning against the couch. “I took the liberty of clearing out your hotel room.” The smug satisfied look on his face was just begging to be asked how he knew where she was staying. John offered her a minute bow of his head, acknowledging her prediction last night.

“Nicked the key, did you?”

“I was certain you didn’t notice it at the time.”

“I didn’t, but I figured you would when you got impatient at some point, which let’s face it, was an inevitability. So sweet of you to bring me my things.” He gaped at her, obviously not used to being called something as pedestrian as _sweet_.  “Any luck with the blood work?”

“No, nothing of any distinction.”

“Sorry to be so boring.”

John spoke before Sherlock had a chance to reply. “Sherlock you’ll have to handle the tests today. Sarah called and asked me to cover her shift. She’s got a baby shower or something to go to.”

“But John –“ the whine crept into his voice and Eva could tell he was working up to a full-blown sulk.

“I’ll be able to look at the results as soon as we get them. You don’t need me to be there for the actual scans. You can text if something comes up.” Sherlock’s glare was murderous, but he remained silent and sipped his tea.

John stood and stretched, revealing a slip of stomach where his t-shirt pulled away from his pajama pants. Eva noticed Sherlock’s gaze focus on the flash of skin and golden hair, but averted her eyes before he noticed her attention. Honestly she just wanted to lock them in a room and order them to sort all this out. “Well,” an oblivious John started, “I’m going to grab a shower before work.”

Eva swallowed the dregs of her own tea and heard the sound of the shower spray in the nearby bathroom. She had to literally bite her lip to stop all the things she wanted to say to Sherlock. She told herself it wasn’t her place to interfere, but it was so incredibly difficult. More so than she’d anticipated.

Sherlock must have misinterpreted her struggle. “So you and John got on well last night.” She felt his sea glass gaze on her borrowed PJs.

“Uh yeah, he’s great. We didn’t shag if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He seemed taken aback by her bluntness. Ironic considering Sherlock was just about the bluntest human being on the planet. “No . . . I would have noticed.”

“Well of course you would have. Maybe I should rephrase.” She looked into his pale, disconcerting eyes to emphasize her point. “I have absolutely no _intention_ of shagging John Hamish Watson.”

He couldn’t hide the genuine smile, which in Sherlock’s case meant a slight twitch of his lips, and the relief shone in his eyes. “That’s . . . ah . . . good. Don’t want him distracted while we’re on a case.”

“Yeah that’s _absolutely_ why.” She saw the protest forming on his lips and raised her hands in surrender. “Fine Sherlock have it your way- it would be a distraction.”

Eva took her suitcase and headed back towards Sherlock’s bedroom. “I’ll take a shower when John’s done then I’ll be ready to go.” A question occurred to her as she realized they’d be at Bart’s. “Do I get to meet Molly?”

“Yes, she’s helping us administer the tests under the administration’s radar. I don’t want any unnecessary questions.”

“Good. She’s adorable and sweet and I think I want to hug her, but that would be weird.”

“You like her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Eva didn’t know where he was going with this.

“Why? You don’t even know her.” He was genuinely curious. That was the thing about Sherlock Holmes, deep down he was just insanely curious. That curiosity didn’t always manifest itself in the most _conventional_ ways, which led to resentment from people like that imbecile Anderson. Most of us were like this as kids, she realized. Every child went through that _why_ phase, asking about any and everything. We didn’t stop asking questions that would later be considered stupid. Most adults either just stifled the urge or learned to act like they already knew all they needed to get by.

She turned her attention back to Sherlock’s question. “I dunno, I guess I feel like we’re kindred spirits to use a very hackneyed term. Both of us have a tendency towards men who are either completely uninterested or utterly wrong for us. She’s kind and smarter than I think most people give her credit for.”

His spine seemed to straighten even further, if that was even possible. Probably uncomfortable with such sentiment. “But,” she began briskly, depositing her mug in the sink, “she doesn’t know me and would think I was mad if I told her how I knew all that. So, we should probably come up with a cover story for what you’re helping me with.”

“You woke up one morning with selective amnesia and found all official records of you were gone. Sounds like a case I’d take.”

“That’s simple enough to remember.”

“No, not difficult for someone like you. You’re not especially stupid.”

That was high praise coming from Sherlock, so she offered him a big smile. “Thanks Sherlock.”

“Well you did manage to break into my laptop yesterday. That tells me you’re not an average idiot.”

She laughed, “You didn’t make it especially difficult. I would have expected a tougher password from you.” It was _Hamish@221B_ and pretty damn telling, she thought. All that talk about Irene’s passcode being sentimental and look at his own password. In all fairness to the man she hadn’t guessed it, but cracked it with a program on her laptop. Sherlock didn’t need to know that though.

He reddened, but continued in his bored voice. “I don’t have to be complicated to keep John out. You should try his. I think he’s currently on _SherlockHolmesisanosyfuckingtwat_.”

“Not even a special character. It’s appalling really.” That earned her a small quirk of his lips.

“I keep telling him I’d stop breaking in if he didn’t make it so damned easy.”

“Well by that logic you won’t mind if I ever have to borrow yours again.” That shut him up, at least momentarily.

__

They met Molly in the lab at Barts. The pathologist was wearing her usual lab coat, but seemed different to Eva. She was still jumpy around Sherlock, something akin to a scared baby rabbit, but seemed more mature than Eva remembered. Molly’s brown hair was swept up in a simple twist like she’d abandoned the attempts to make it look more exotic. And there was nary an awkward cardigan in attendance. She wore a classic green sheath dress that looked good with her coloring. It was the same Molly, but with a bit of polish. The new simpler look suited her.

Eva smiled warmly at her and offered a hand, “You must be Molly Hooper. Sherlock and John have told me so much about you. Thanks a million for helping us.” Molly shook it, looking startled at the courtesy.

“Oh well I - it’s no trouble really.” Poor Molly was a lot like Sherlock in some ways. Wasn’t used to thanks and didn’t know how to receive it. You’d have thought Sherlock would have clued in on that and showed gratitude every now and again, but it wasn’t in his nature.

“No Molly, I’m sure you’re risking your job to sneak us around today and I really appreciate it. Here,” Eva offered the woman a paper cup, “we brought you coffee by way of saying thanks.”

“Erm thanks –“ Sherlock hadn’t even bothered to tell Molly who she was, damn him.

“Eva,” she supplied.

“Thanks Eva. So, you’re Sherlock’s new client then?”

“Yep and he wants to make sure I don’t have a tumor growing in my brain or any number of other comforting afflictions.”

“That’s uh sweet.”

“Not really, I think I’m a bit of a science project to him.” That earned her a small giggle from Molly.

The huff of irritation that came from the 6 foot tall infant behind her signaled that Sherlock was ready to begin. He could damn well wait while Eva had a small chat with the original Sherlock fangirl.

“I’m still just a little afraid that he’ll try to take a biopsy in my sleep.”

“Sleep? So you’re sleeping at Baker Street then?” Typically, Molly took the situation the wrong way. It was getting a little tiresome trying to convince the world she wasn’t trying to seduce John or Sherlock.

“Yes, the guys have been kind enough to let me stay with them to avoid a good old fashioned Mycroft Holmes kidnapping. Sherlock gave me his room, seeing as he hardly ever sleeps and when he does it’s usually on the couch.”

“Oh, right.” That seemed to placate her.

“If you two are finished gossiping like guests on a bad chat show I’d like to start.”

“Of course,” Molly acquiesced. “Eva we have the MRI set up first. Come with me.”

Sherlock was already through the door, undoubtedly knowing where the machine was located. It was going to be a very long day.


	4. Chapter 4

John had overdone it at the pub, she realized that now. Despite being fairly forward thinking for his gender John obviously felt the need to match her pint for pint. That had been his mistake. She may be short and weigh a lot less than him, but she was no wilting flower. Thankfully he was still mobile, but she didn’t hold out hope that it would last much longer.

It had been fun though and Eva wasn’t exactly sober herself. She felt comfortably loose and happy. John was a good drinking buddy.  She’d always got on better with men than women. Men were the best mates and like John offered an uncomplicated night out. Most women, in her experience at least, subtly denigrated each other and insisted on indulging in fruity pink concoctions rather than a nice pint of ale. What was the point if the damn thing didn’t even give you a buzz?

Pity Sherlock didn’t come. She’d have liked to see him drunk. It was nearing 1 AM and she hoped the detective was away from the flat. She was sure he’d disapprove of how alarmingly pissed John was. Should have come along then, she thought. John needed some ordinary experiences occasionally to offset the chaos that was his life. He’d told her as much earlier.

They weaved along Baker Street arm in arm. She applauded John’s foresight in choosing something close to the flat. For some reason they’d started singing halfway home and were partially through _Don’t Go Breaking My Heart_ when they entered the sitting room of 221B.

Sherlock rose from his chair and assessed the situation. Good luck making sense of this one, she reflected. He was in his pajamas and dressing gown, so she figured he was in for the night. “I gave you my heaaaart.” John warbled, completely oblivious to Sherlock’s scrutiny. He paused, “Wait a mo- you’re supposed to do the Kiki Dee part. I’m the guy. How’d we get mixed up?”

“I suspect it had something to do with the massive quantities of beer you ingested.” The detective’s voice was full of scorn.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport Sherlock. We were celebrating.” Eva continued to grasp John’s arm, afraid he’d topple over without her support.

“Yeah Eva was _brilliant_.” The last word slurred out garnered a raised eyebrow from Sherlock. “Mycroft had us brought to the Diogenes Club this afternoon. On the way Eva had them stop us off at a bakery and she brought him a cupcake. A _cupcake_!” His tone was awed. “Never had to fight that hard not to laugh in my life. Should’ve seen his face Sherlock. She just plunked it down and said that the British government deserved a treat every now and then, even if it was on a diet.” John roared with laughter and tried to twirl Eva around in a hug. He almost fell over and needed Eva’s help to regain his equilibrium.  

“Come on Kiki you’re off to bed. I’m pretty sure you’ll pass out soon anyway.” She angled the man towards the stairs and called over her shoulder. “I’ll be back down in a minute.”

John tumbled into bed and she fought to at least get his shoes off before he climbed under the covers. He was still singing softly. When he was settled she pulled the comforter over him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. _He_ needed to be taken care of every now and again. “I like you. You’re a good mate Eva.”

“You’re a good mate too John. Now, get some rest.” But he was already out, snoring softly. Eva was sure he’d have a hell of a hangover in the morning, but John was a big boy.  He probably even had a decent hangover cure, most medical professionals did.

When she walked into the sitting room she noticed for the first time that John’s overstuffed chair was occupied. The man stood and she was surprised to see Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock positively radiated tetchiness and had draped himself across the couch, apparently ignoring them both.

“Don’t fall all over yourself making introductions Sherlock.” She offered Lestrade her hand. “Hi, I’m Eva and you must be Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

He seemed confused by her familiarity, but gave her a firm handshake. “Yeah, just Greg will do though. Good to meet you Eva.”

Sherlock was clearly still focused on John’s pub outing, ignored them both and stared daggers at the closed door leading up to John’s room. “You shouldn’t have let him drink that much.”

“John’s a gown man Sherlock. You could have come with us to play nursemaid, but I believe you deemed it too ‘boring’ when John texted you.”

He shot her a murderous glare. “You two seemed to get along fine without me.” Like a stroppy damned child. Sherlock gathered his dressing gown around his lean torso with an air of irate dignity. Clearly he thought himself above such petty pub gatherings, but probably regretted not tagging along.

“Oh for the love of God Sherlock! How many times do I have to tell you I’m not trying to fuck the good doctor?” Eva sunk into Sherlock’s chair with an exasperated sigh and Greg resumed his seat. He had a knowing grin on his face. She’d let Sherlock have his sulk. Eventually he’d be curious enough about the meeting with Mycroft to ask. “So I take it you’re here about me Greg.”

“Yeah, I was curious to see what the woman that doesn’t exist looks like.”

She felt herself flush and hoped it was disguised by her already rosy cheeks. “Hope I didn’t disappoint.” She shot the DI a wink. He _was_ a silver fox, she noticed with interest and even better looking in person.

“No um – that is to say . . . I uh also wanted to ask Sherlock about a case.”

“Abysmally easy,” the sulky man-child drawled. Even stroppy Sherlock couldn’t resist showing off. “It’s obviously the man’s sister. She wants the mother’s house when she dies and being the only surviving child she’d get it.”

“I believe that’s what I told you before I showed you the file. I just wanted another set of eyes.” Greg looked, for all the world, like a put upon colleague, but she suspected he needed less of Sherlock’s help than he let on. Greg was a good guy doing what he could to keep Sherlock’s personal brand of dangerous boredom at bay.  He continued, “Anyway I ran the search on Eva here and didn’t get so much as a credit report. I’ve never seen an identity so thoroughly wiped. You must be quite the hacker.”

“I didn’t erase my own identity and I’m a sneaker more than a hacker. Tiger team, red team, white hat, call it what you will, but I don’t do anything illegal _Detective Inspector_.” The venom in her voice wasn’t strictly necessary, but she was tired of everyone assuming she was up to no good and the alcohol had partially removed her filter.  The DI didn’t need to know about her weakness with Seb. That was more altruistic than anything, right?

Greg raised his hands in gesture of capitulation. “Alright, alright you’re one of the good ones.” 

She immediately regretted berating the man. He got enough of that from Sherlock. “Sorry Greg. I just get a little defensive sometimes and I’m not what you’d call completely sober at the moment.”

“How much did you two have?”

“I don’t know Detective Inspector it was all a bit of a blur.” Dear God she got really fangirly when she drank. Thankfully she didn’t burst into hysterical giggles at the joke that only she got. Eva continued in as sober a voice as she could muster. “Maybe seven or eight pints each and I think there were some shots in there too.”

He whistled appreciatively. “Sounds like you and John had one hell of a celebration. I might have to tag along next time and make sure you two don’t get into any trouble.”

“Oooh a police escort. I like it!”

He grinned, but continued with his questions. “So Eva, why go to Sherlock instead of the police?”

“If _I_ couldn’t find a trace of me I was sure the police wouldn’t either.” God she was starting to sound like Sherlock. “No offense. Plus, I didn’t want to end up in a psych ward somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t have had you committed!”

“Ah but Greg I figured missing persons or whatever this would be considered your division.” This was getting to be way too much fun. “Couldn’t risk handing the case over to a close-minded investigator.”

“If you two are quite done I’d like to hear about Mycroft.” Typical Sherlock. He sulked and when he finally deigned to speak acted like everyone else was stopping him.

“That can keep until tomorrow I think.” She stretched lazily and curled her legs under her. “Let’s wait until John’s fully conscious. He knows Mycroft better than I do and can probably give you a better idea of his state of mind. That way we don’t have to tell the story twice.” Sherlock would be distracted by John all night anyway.

“Did you really bring him a cupcake?” Sherlock was grudgingly looking at her again. Apparently insulting his brother was making up for the fact that she helped John get outrageously drunk.

“Sure did, it had sprinkles and everything.”  Suddenly a thought occurred to her and she didn’t think it constituted blatantly interfering with their relationship. She began in a hesitant voice. “Listen, Sherlock I think one of us should sit with John tonight. He ended up on his back and I’m worried he’ll be sick. He’s pretty out of it.” He’d do it himself rather than let an inebriated John wake up with her in the room.

The tall man heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Fine. I don’t have any experiments to run tonight, so I suppose I can babysit John.” He stood up and addressed the policeman. “Lestrade do let me know if you have any _interesting_ cases for me.” And without another glance at them he was through the door and up the stairs. She heard John’s door open slowly and click closed a moment later.

“That was clever of you.” With Sherlock gone Greg didn’t have to suppress his grin.

She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “He was probably going to spy on him all night anyway. One never knows when observations of an intoxicated John Watson may come in handy- for a case, of course.”

“Of course.” The man looked down at his feet and he hesitated. “Listen Eva I’m not sure what Sherlock’s helping you with or why there’s no record of you anywhere, but if you ever need any help, official or otherwise, let me know.”

“Thanks Greg, that’s really nice of you.”

“Well I’m off then. Think I may actually make it home tonight before two.”

“It was good to meet you Greg.”

“You too Eva. Try not to get into any trouble.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder and left the flat, a slight crimson blush staining his cheeks. She smiled to herself as she walked into Sherlock’s room. There still wasn’t a wedding ring on Lestrade’s finger. 


	5. Chapter 5

Apparently the good doctor _didn’t_ have a magical hangover cure and Eva felt a twinge of guilt when he finally emerged from his room late the next morning. John’s eyes were red-rimmed, sporting bruise-like bags underneath, and she could all but see the headache pounding at his temples. It was endearing though to see the usually neat man all rumpled, hair standing up in blonde tufts.

Eva sat him down in his armchair and fetched four paracetamol tablets from the bathroom. He raised an eyebrow, undoubtedly questioning the higher than recommended dose, but swallowed them down with the glass of water she placed in his hand.

John just mumbled a, “thanks,” before leaning his head back and covering his eyes with one hand.

Aside from sleeping a bit later than was her habit Eva was no worse for the wear. When she’d padded into the kitchen hours earlier in search of caffeine Sherlock was pacing about the sitting room. “John rolled onto his side,” he glanced at his watch, “one hour and thirty-seven minutes ago. I believe the danger of him vomiting in his sleep has passed.”

“Good to know. I’m making tea, do you want some?” She didn’t expect him to accept, as he was already donning his coat, but at least someone had to observe the courtesies around here.

“No. Molly has your test results, so I’m off to Barts. I think she also has some teeth for me.” Without so much as another word he was through the door and pounding down the stairs. At least teeth wouldn’t need to be kept in the fridge.

Partially to make up for her part in John’s hangover, Eva made him tea and buttered toast. He didn’t look like he was going to be sick, but in her experience a hangover was like a delicate ecosystem that shouldn’t be upset with anything too exotic. John partook of both in silence.

The paracetamol must have made a dent, because John searched out the papers thirty minutes later. Good, that probably meant he wasn’t going to pray to the porcelain god this time around. He stayed quiet though, so Eva didn’t interrupt the silence.

Eva settled herself on the couch with her laptop and surfed the web. True, Tumblr wasn’t nearly as much fun without all the Sherlock posts or Red Pants Monday, but it was still thoroughly entertaining. It was nice to be able to loaf about in the middle of the day for a change.

Sherlock texted her shortly after and she could almost hear the disappointment.

_Test results negative. Your brain and everything else is quite normal. - SH_

_Thanks for letting me know Sherlock._

He didn’t reply back, not that she’d expected him to.

The two of them enjoyed a companionable silence for the next couple of hours, punctuated only by the rustle of pages and the tapping of keys. John finished his reading and turned to Eva. “Sorry for getting so trashed last night.”

“No need to apologize John. Sometimes we all need to get inordinately drunk. How are you feeling?”

“Like rubbish, but better than when I woke up.”

They heard the shout of, “JOHN” seconds before heavy footfalls signaled Sherlock’s ascent up the seventeen stairs that lead to the flat.

He burst in the sitting room, taking up far more space than a man his size ought to. “John, Lestrade has a case for me! At first I thought it was just an ordinary homicide, but they found a neurotoxin I’m unfamiliar with in the victim’s blood. I want you to have a look.”

“Alright Sherlock,” John rose from the chair, only a little unsteady on his feet. “Let me get a shower first and then we can go.”

“There’s no time for that John.”

“Sherlock I’m not at my best today. I’ll have a shower and then we can go to the lab.”

Sherlock’s reply was positively caustic. “It’s hardly _my_ fault you stupidly decided to drink the pub’s entire store of alcohol last night. You know that I may require your assistance at any time. Do try and be more considerate next time you decide to go on a bender.”

“Considerate? CONSIDERATE? Okay Sherlock I’ll adjust my drinking habits around you if you promise to stop faffing off to fucking warzones without telling me.” Okay so this was about much more than Sherlock’s childish behavior.

“Go on then. You’ve been stewing about that for days now. Have it out.”

“Karachi Sherlock, Karachi? You snuck off to fucking Pakistan without telling me all for that horrible woman. And how do I find out about it? Did you finally fess up? Of course not, because you’re bloody Sherlock Holmes, who doesn’t answer to anyone!”

Eva started to move towards the kitchen, intending to slip back into Sherlock’s room, but John whirled around to face her before she got the chance. “No Eva please stay. Someone has to keep me from killing the world’s only fucking consulting detective.”

Sherlock stood stock still, looking more indignant by the second. The only sign of movement was his fingers drumming against his leg in a rapid staccato.

John was just getting started. “You’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve Sherlock.”

“I didn’t think I had to explain myself to you John.” All the bravado had left the man and he sounded uncharacteristically resigned. Eva realized what a poor choice of words he’d made. It certainly could have meant that Sherlock didn’t feel he had to answer to the likes of John Watson, but she didn’t think so. John was the one person that Sherlock could be himself around. No explanations for the mad experiments or insane lifestyle, because John _understood_ Sherlock, at least more than any other person on the planet.

John obviously didn’t take it that way though. “Oh how silly of me. I’m just your best friend, your flatmate, your bloody _colleague_. Why would you care one whit about me?” John turned on his heel and moved to go upstairs. As he passed Eva he bitterly said, “Told you, didn’t I?”

Sherlock’s reply was thunderous and startled the both of them. “Told her WHAT?” The man’s chest was heaving and his cheeks were luridly pink. If it was even possible his eyes were paler than usual. Two chips of ice currently zeroed in on John’s surprised face.

“You know what John? Forget it. You’re obviously unable to hold a rational conversation in your current state. Don’t bother hiding in your room, I’m going out.” He barreled past them both and was out of the flat with barely a swish of his Belstaff coat.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next several days Sherlock and John were scrupulously polite to each other. Of course Sherlock’s interpretation of polite was miles away from ordinary folks; however Eva still noticed the change. They were stiffer around each other and more formal. It was disconcerting.

The sexual tension had been supplanted with garden-variety tension, but both men were too stubborn to actually talk about the fight. Berks.

Sherlock had been disappointed that the neurotoxin turned out to be a combination of poorly prepared puffer fish sushi and mercury poisoning. The sushi was just bad luck and poor judgment on the victim’s part. Fugu was so tricky to prepare, but coupled with the mercury his wife was slipping into his meals it proved fatal.  

The flat was quiet at the moment. Eva stretched out on the couch and idly typed into her log. Some would call it a diary, but that sounded too sentimental. A log of her experiences was more scientific. Nobody else would ever see it, but it couldn’t hurt to have a record. She glanced at the screen and saw it was only 3 PM.

John and Sherlock were off working a missing person case. A bride apparently vanished at her wedding reception and Sherlock was hired by the distraught groom. Eva didn’t mention that she’d probably met up with her previously presumed dead husband who attended the wedding. She couldn’t be sure though. Canon didn’t always follow the expected track here. After all, A Study in Pink hadn’t had a thing to do with Mormons this time around. Plus, she didn’t want to ruin Sherlock’s fun. Maybe they’d even get to chase someone. Those two did love a good chase.

She was bored to be quite honest. Not _Sherlock_ bored thankfully, but bored nonetheless.  Eva felt like she was waiting for something to happen and it was downright maddening. Maybe she’d bake some cookies for Mrs. Hudson. She was always doing nice things for the boys, but got little more than a hug or a kiss on the cheek in thanks. But what items in the kitchen were safe to use? She’d have to purchase supplies and stow them away from Sherlock’s reach. No sense letting new bakeware get contaminated with decomposing flesh- that’s what old pans were for.

Eva was contemplating what type of items she’d need when her phone buzzed with a text.

_I’m rubbish with computers. I could use your help with a case I’m working on. Would you be willing to be a consulting hacker (sorry don’t know another word for it)? –Greg_

_Now?_

_If you don’t have anything else on that would be great._

_I could send a car or come pick you up myself._

_Nah I’ll just take a cab. Please tell me I don’t have to dress up._

_Not on my account. You can set up shop in my office._

_I really appreciate this Eva._

_No problem- sounds like fun._

And it did. Hell anything that took her outside of 221B sounded entertaining. She pulled on a jumper over her Atari t-shirt, traded her pajama pants for jeans, and was ready to go.  Eva paused briefly wondering if she’d need Sherlock’s laptop as well, but decided against it. If she needed more equipment she’d just ask Lestrade.

With her laptop, phone, and messenger bag in hand she headed out the door. In less than fifteen minutes she was walking through the visitor entrance of the shining façade.  She was issued a visitor’s badge and Sally came down to sign her in. Eva supposed she should have been ready for that, but she was taken off guard.

There was something inherently hard about Sally Donovan. Not that Eva didn’t expect some of that from a woman in her position, but something about Sally didn’t sit right with her.  She was obviously good at her job, but Eva suspected she saw red wherever Sherlock was concerned. One day she was going to get that story out of him. It had to be a doozy.

Sally surveyed her with cold, dark eyes. “So you’re the freak’s new project.”

Eva didn’t raise her voice, but spoke in a cool measured tone. “You know Sergeant Donovan you’ve been wrong about quite a few things. Sherlock wasn’t involved in the kidnapping of those children and he was telling the truth about Moriarty. He even faked his own death to save three people, one of which is your boss. You ever think that maybe you’re wrong about Sherlock himself? Yes, he can be a _colossal_ arse, but just because he’s smarter than almost everyone doesn’t mean he’s a freak. Just like being a woman in a predominantly male job doesn’t make you or me one either. I’d really be grateful if you didn’t call him that around me.”

Sally stood rooted to the spot hands fisted on her hips. She couldn’t read the myriad of micro facial expressions like Sherlock could, but she sensed the woman was struggling with how to respond. Slowly she unclenched her hands and brought them down to rest at her sides. “Fair enough. You can call me Sally, by the way.”

Eva offered Sally her hand, “And Eva’s fine with me. It’s good to meet you Sally.”  Sally shook the offered hand. They’d never be friends, but she’d take what she could get. Eva was escorted to the eighth floor and ushered into Lestrade’s office. His desk was along one wall and a small conference table sat opposite it.

Greg stood and motioned for her to take one of the guest chairs. Surprisingly he circled the desk and sat down in the chair next to her. “Thanks for coming over on such short notice Eva.”

“To be honest this is great. I’ve been climbing the walls. I can only break into Sherlock’s laptop so many times before it gets boring.” 

He chuckled and pulled a file off the desk. “Well any help you could offer would be amazing. Our IT department is understaffed and they’re trying to put me off until next week. I want to get a warrant issued before the suspect can leave the country, but right now I don’t have enough evidence for the judge’s liking.“ He gave her a minute to glance through the folder. “We’re fairly certain this guy was cyber stalking his ex-wife and that he’s responsible for her death, but he wiped his hard drive.”

“Do you know if it’s been overwritten?”

“All I know is that no files or internet history shows up when I turn the thing on.” He gestured to a PC tower on the table. “It’s like he just bought the thing, but we know it’s not new.”

“Probably reformatted and thought that was good enough. What does the guy do for a living?”

“Teaches secondary biology.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“If he was really tech savvy he’d probably be working in the field. My guess is he thinks he picked up everything he needed to know on the internet.”

“God I hope so. This one is a snarky bastard. What do you need from me?”

“I think I’m fine for the moment.” She stood and placed her bag next to the ancient computer. “I’ll eventually need an internet connection.” Eva pointed toward a port in the far wall. “Is that port good?”

“Huh?”

Greg Lestrade the Luddite. Bless him, it was a wonder he could text. “Network access? Internet?”

“Oh yeah that one should work. If you need anything just call Ted at extension 3004. He’s been told to get you anything else you require.” He was already up, grabbing his coat. He shot her an apologetic glance. “Sorry, but I’ve got a crime scene to -“

“You’re fine Greg. I saw the coffee and vending machines. I’m good.”

“Okay. Call me if you need me.” He offered her shoulder a quick squeeze and then he was gone. It was probably better that way anyway. He’d drive her crazy hovering while she worked.

Eva pulled one of her screwdrivers out of the bag and started to dismantle the dusty machine. This _was_ going to be fun.

__

Some hours later Eva felt a tap on her shoulder. Her legs were propped up on the table and her computer whirred softly in her lap. She’d long since discarded the jumper and shoes and her hair was secured in a loose bun on top of her head. The Green Day song she was listening to faded as she pulled out the ear buds. Greg was offering her a styrofoam cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar, right?”

“Yeah thanks. You didn’t have to do that though. Unlike consulting detectives us consulting hackers don’t assume yarders live to get us coffee.”

That bought her a tired grin. “Least I can do. I take it you haven’t looked at your phone since you started.” He shrugged out of his jacket and rubbed his eyes.

“No, why?”

“John’s texted you about 10 times. Might want to leave a note next time you dash off.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to pull a Sherlock on him. I take it he finally called you.”

“Yeah I let him know you were helping me. Thought you’d be long gone by now though.”

“I’m almost finished.” She looked past him and saw that the desks outside his office were all empty. It must have been later than she realized.

“Did you find anything?”

“Oh yeah, your guy definitely did it. He managed to install a program on the victim’s laptop that allowed him to remote in and delete his emails from her account, which is why you didn’t find anything on her computer. I got them back, so you won’t have waste time getting the records from company’s servers. One message even went into detail about how he’d kill her. Thought he was clever and had a separate email account set up just for stalking her.

“You’ll probably find a GPS tracker somewhere on her car, because he was logging that as well. Kept spreadsheets with the coordinates and creepy little notes. Also, I cross referenced the document update logs with his online gaming account history so he can’t claim someone used his computer while he was out. _World of Warcraft_ has his IP address and account logged. Apparently he liked to multitask.”

“That’s great Eva. I mean I didn’t understand about half of that, but it sounds good. If you’ll just give me what you found-“

“I will once I’m done with my report.” This had been much more exciting than her standard fare of corporate penetration testing. A part of her worried that she’d been spending too much time around Sherlock if she thought a murder investigation was exciting.

“Report?”

“Yeah,” she grinned at him. “I’ve got all the data, but I’m making it pretty. I assumed you’d need something to give to the judge and it would probably come in handy once this goes to trial.”

“That’s . . . amazing.” His brown eyes locked onto her green ones. “I owe you a lot more than a horrible cup of coffee now.” 

Eva flushed, deciding that she was probably just very tired. “Keep me company while I finish?”

“That’ll do for a start.” He rolled another chair over and sunk down next to her. “But first can you go over that again- slowly?” 


	7. Chapter 7

_Want to meet me and John for a pint? Sherlock’s doing a rather noxious experiment and the flat is uninhabitable at the moment. We probably need to be supervised._

_God help me. Where?_

_The Beehive_

_I’ll be there in about twenty._

_See you then._

“Greg’s in.” Eva slid the phone back in her pocket and smiled at John, who had just emerged from the building. “So any shenanigans tonight can be blamed on him.” She took another deep breath of the fresh evening air as they stood on the threshold of 221. “Couldn’t drag the madman out?”

John heaved a long-suffering sigh, “No, the tetchy bastard swears it isn’t toxic and wants to finish his damned experiment. Couldn’t even be arsed to admit he did anything wrong.” It smelled like a rancid charnel house filled with rotten eggs in the flat. “He did promise to air the place out while we’re gone though.”

“Small victory, but a victory nonetheless.” She put an arm through his. “Come on. I’m hungry and am in desperate need of alcohol.”

“Lead on.” He laughed, but shot a worried look up at the sitting room windows as they walked off.

They were already into their first pint when Greg flopped down at their table. “Bloody hell I didn’t think I could get out of there fast enough.” He searched for a waitress and motioned for one of what they were having. Other men may have been ignored in a busy pub, but not Greg. He didn’t need a uniform to radiate authority. “I swear I’m going to have to separate Anderson and Donovan. Caught them going at it in an interrogation room, you can’t unsee something like that.”

Eva had to stop herself from grimacing or making a comment. She wasn’t supposed to know Anderson as far as Lestrade knew. John made up for it though with a disgusted, “Ugh.”

The waitress brought Greg’s drink with a wink. He took a long pull before asking, “What’s Sherlock done now?”

“I don’t really want to know, but it smelled beyond horrible.” Their original server deposited a large tray of hot chips on the table much to Eva’s delight. The greasy smell was a perfect complement to the yeasty aroma of beer. She grabbed a handful and deposited them on her plate.

“So Eva you’re still at Baker Street then?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got to start looking for a place of my own. There’s no need to stay now that Mycroft is involved and I’m getting right tired of reminding Sherlock that I’m not trying to get into John’s pants.”

John feigned resentment, but couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice. “Oi and why the hell not?”

“Because you’re taken.” Eva and John goggled at the DI. “What? Like I don’t have eyes. I’ve been watching you for years now. Bloody stupid the both of you.”

“See John everyone in the whole damned city sees it. Told you so.” She clinked glasses with Greg. “Thank you for proving my point.”

John turned his blue gaze on them, not the least bit amused. “Yeah like you lot are any better.”

“Never said that mate. But, I’m not currently living with the person I’m in love with.” John furrowed his brows, but the policeman continued. “I can’t get past my schedule with most women, let alone date one long enough to see about love. You’re lucky John.”

Eva nodded sagely, “Yep. I can’t seem to find a man that isn’t an idiotic wannabe hipster, or tries to turn me vegan, or won’t get off his dead arse to get a job. As mad as Sherlock is you’re perfect for each other.”

Sounding remarkably like a melodramatic teenager, “He doesn’t think of me that way.”

“Like hell he doesn’t. He’s jealous of _me_ for God’s sake! He knows we don’t fancy each other- pupil dilation and the 5000 other signs don’t lie, but he’s irrational about it. Sherlock Holmes is being _irrational_.”

“Yeah, but he’s never dated _anyone_ that we know of.”

“I have a theory for that.” Strictly speaking it wasn’t her theory, but there weren’t any other Sherlockians there to take offence. She polished off her beer and before she could make a move Greg signaled for another round. He motioned for her to continue. “I think Sherlock is demisexual or some derivation thereof.”

“It’s been years since I’ve had a psychology course. What does that entail?”

“It’s pretty simple- no sexual attraction without a strong emotional connection. Therefore if most people are idiots there’s no hope of him forming an emotional connection with them. Hence ‘not really my area’ and all the rest. But, honestly labels aren’t applicable to everyone. I just know how he looks at you.”

John just stared into his glass with a pensive look on his face. They dropped the subject as another round of drinks arrived. Greg was helping Eva finish off the chips. “You know,” he started between bites, “I bet Mrs. Hudson would love to rent you 221C.”

“You mean where Moriarty planted Carl Powers’ trainers?”

“A fan of John’s blog I take it?”

“Yeah and John’s filled me in on some of the bits he left out.” She had to remember not to be too familiar with their past cases around Greg.

“I don’t think Mrs. Hudson has had much interest in the place and you’d be close enough to still annoy the hell out of Sherlock.”

“That’s a good idea.” She turned to their now silent companion, “John what do you think?”

“Bout what?” He looked up and regarded Greg and Eva. She knew he had been deep in thought when he didn’t even affect embarrassment that he wasn’t following the conversation.

“Greg suggested that I look into renting 221C. Would you have a problem with that?”

“No, actually I think that’s a good idea. It’s pretty bad though, may need a fair bit of work.”

“I think I’d be up for it. Bit of paint, maybe some plaster work, a decent dehumidifier, and I think it could be really nice.”

John was already knee-deep in his own thoughts again and didn’t reply. Eva and Greg talked about 221C, his current cases, and some of the more interesting assignments she’d had over the years. But, two pints later Eva took pity on John and dragged him back to the flat. They declined Greg’s offer to drive them back and walked home in silence.

John’s hands alternated between being thrust in his jacket pockets and tugging at the hem of his forest green jumper. He looked miserable, like a storm cloud was brewing in his head. Eva really hoped Mrs. Hudson didn’t intercept them on their way upstairs, as John clearly wasn’t in the mood for a visit.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair staring daggers at the door when they entered the flat. True to his word the windows were open and only a faint odor remained.

He launched into a speech the second the door closed behind them. “I can tell you’re not inordinately inebriated this time, but I would like to avoid another row. Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t tell you I was going to Karachi, because you would have insisted on accompanying me?” John probably had to have another ‘timing’ talk with Sherlock.

John tensed and clenched his fists. The retort was clipped, “Explain.”

“I considered telling you, but knew the only way you’d let me go without you was to forcibly restrain you. I don’t think either of us would have particularly enjoyed that, so I chose not to say anything. I didn’t lie.”

“Yeah, but I could have helped. You went in there alone-“

“Yes I went a stone’s throw away from the warzone that saw you brutally shot and invalided home with a psychosomatic limp. Funnily enough I didn’t want to force you to dredge all that up again.”

John didn’t have a reply to that, but Eva noticed his hands relax.

“I didn’t want to subject my . . . you to that unnecessarily.”  

“I thought that because it was Irene . . .” He took a step forward. “You could have been killed. For God’s sake Mycroft didn’t even know you went.”

“I was perfectly in control of the situation.”

“And what if you weren’t? Did you ever stop to consider what I’d do if you died? I don’t, because I’ve already been there. Those were the worst months of my life, made Afghanistan look like a cake walk.”

“John I –“ Sherlock’s expression was pained in a way Eva had never seen. He looked positively wrecked.

John held up a hand, “Sherlock I’m not blaming you. God knows you’ve laid out the logic for me several times. I just . . . need you to remember me when you decide to do something horribly dangerous.”

“What, so you can do it with me?”

John ran a hand through his hair, “Well yeah.”

 All the bluster and tension had left them by now. They stood barely a foot apart, staring at each other. When Sherlock finally spoke his question was so sad and soft, “Why?” Like he couldn’t understand why John bothered with him.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Obviously not.”

“Because I love you, you great stupid git.”

Sherlock completely ceased all movement. Not a finger twitch, no blinking, nothing. She didn’t even think he was breathing. Eva really wanted to leave, but it was like being stuck in a Johnlock tractor beam. Plus, she _really_ hoped they’d forgotten she was there. This was awkward enough.

After what honestly felt like eternity Sherlock spoke. “I . . . _that_ too.”

John Watson had finally told Sherlock Holmes that he loved him and he wasn’t about to take such a ridiculous reply. “You _what_ too?”

“Love. You. Too.” Something broke in the consulting detective at that point. His face softened as he looked down at John, like he was the only person in the whole of the universe. She was positively squeeing on the inside.

 Eva realized it was now or never for her escape. As much as she’d love to see a real live Johnlock fanfic recreation, she wasn’t into voyeurism, nor did she think the boys were. The last thing she saw as she eased the door closed was Sherlock lean down and ever so tentatively kiss his army doctor.

She could kip on Mrs. Hudson’s couch tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there really is a pub called The Beehive very close to 221B Baker Street. I've only seen it on Google maps, but it looks cute and I couldn't resist making that John's neighborhood pub. I mean bees and Sherlock go together like Jawn and jam, amiright?


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks later Eva was finally good and truly moved in. Her address was officially 221C Baker Street. The money she’d _liberated_ from Seb made the whole thing a lot smoother. It was nice not having to worry about cash. She’d stayed modest, raiding Ikea for all it was worth, but it was lovely to just pay for it all without a second thought. Plus, the steady income she was getting now that she’d established herself as a freelancer would easily pay for her day-to-day expenses. Mycroft had apparently spread the word of her prowess to his colleagues. Eva must remember to thank Sherlock for whatever he’d done to illicit Mycroft’s cooperation.

Sherlock didn’t admit that he was stumped, but there was no new evidence to collect, no tests to run, and no explanation on the horizon. If it hadn’t been for the distraction of John he might be pulling out his hair in frustration.

All in all this wasn’t the exile she’d imagined. She was happy, shockingly enough. So what if she’d fallen into her favorite television show. Worse things could have happened.

 True she’d indulged in a few luxury items with Seb’s hooker money, a ridiculously expensive phone dock/speaker combination being one. Eva had seen it in the store and simply _had_ to have it. She wasn’t that way with clothes, makeup, or any other girly accoutrements, but gadgets were a weakness. Said speakers were blasting away in the corner of the kitchen as she readied her first meal.

Mrs. Hudson was off visiting her sister, so she didn’t need to worry about the noise and John and Sherlock could hardly complain. She _was_ only two floors below their bedroom after all. They’d taken up their relationship with gusto once it finally began. Likely making up for lost time. It was glorious to see them both so damned content. Thanks in no small measure to her, she mused. Well, it would have happened eventually, but she liked to think she had a helped it along before they were both in walkers.

The happy couple was invited to her inaugural housewarming dinner along with Molly, her new boyfriend, Greg, and even Mycroft. She didn’t really expect the man to show, but it was a conciliatory gesture. It never hurt to invite the British Government over to dinner. He had forgiven the cupcake incident after all.

It felt like it had been so long since she’d been able to cook in a proper kitchen. She was afraid to make anything too complicated in the 221B kitchen. One never knew which utensils had come into contact with body parts. It made her uncomfortable, so she’d stuck to simple meals. Maybe she could get the boys a mini fridge for Christmas to keep the body parts separate from the food.

She decided on a Mediterranean menu for tonight, since it was one of the few cuisines Sherlock actually heartily enjoyed. Luckily he was between cases, so the likelihood that he’d actually eat increased exponentially.

The salmon was already marinating in her shiny new fridge when she decided to get dressed. Sherlock was really the only one who could get away with receiving guests in his dressing gown. She kept it simple with jeans and an emerald green cashmere (a nod to Seb’s contribution) sweater, but dressed it up a bit with jewelry and even did her hair and put a little makeup on. This was, after all, a special occasion. Feet were kept bare though, she had her limits.

Eva was more relaxed than she’d been in ages. She’d decided that if she was meant to stay here then she’d make the most of it, belting along with the current song as she cut the asparagus. She had a decent voice and tended to indulge in the habit when she was cooking. The euphoria of completing the move even had her wiggling her hips along with the beat.

She’d finished a particularly rousing Fleetwood Mac song when she heard a knock behind her. It was too early to expect anyone, so she was completely surprised to find Greg in her doorway with a sheepish look on his face. Eva felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment. How long had he been standing there? He must have knocked on the doorframe, as the door was already open.

“Oh God I’m sorry you had to witness that,” she stammered.

Greg looked guilty now and appeared to be rooted to the spot. A few beats passed and he still didn’t speak. She only noticed that he was carrying a bottle of wine when he very deliberately bent down and placed it on the floor. He closed the door swiftly behind him and was standing in front of her in four quick strides.

Before she knew it one hand was on the small of her back and the other was at the back of her neck. He pulled her against him, moved his lips to hers, and kissed her soundly. His lips were warm and soft, she thought. Unconsciously her hands slid into his hair and she parted her lips invitingly. He obliged, his tongue entering her mouth. Damn he was good at this, she noted.  It was her last intelligible thought for several minutes.

They eventually pulled apart, both trying to catch their breath. Her hands were still entwined in that maddeningly sexy silver hair and his were now firmly planted on her hips. Stupidly she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You’re early.”

He issued a soft chuckle, “I can come back later if you want.”

“Don’t you dare,” she growled and pulled him into another insistent kiss.

They snogged like a couple of teenagers for several minutes before they finally disentangled themselves. Greg flashed a boyish grin and managed to look both recalcitrant and unrepentant at the same time. “Sorry, but I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.”

“Oh,” her only response was incoherent, betraying her utter surprise.

He leaned back with a stricken look on his face. “Oh God I’m sorry. I’m bad at this. So out of practice.”

Eva pulled him back to her, “No Greg it’s fine, really a lot more than fine. I’m just not used to garnering that response in men.”

He goggled at her with incredulity. “What? But you’re . . . it took everything I had not to kiss you that night at the Yard. You’re so damnable sexy and smart as hell.” He laughed again. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not going to be able to hire you as a consultant anymore. You’re much too distracting.”

For the first time she noticed that Greg was in jeans and a snug red long sleeved t-shirt. He even had trainers on instead of his usual work shoes. He looked casual and amazingly sexy. His brown eyes met hers and he swooped in for a quick kiss before crossing to the discarded wine. “John said you were making fish, so I brought a white . . .  of some kind. Girl at the shop said it was good.”

He made it back to the kitchen and offered her the bottle.  “That was really sweet Greg. You want a glass?”

“Yes please.”

Eva busied herself opening the bottle and pouring two glasses. He’d even chilled it, she noticed. He took the offered glass and took a sip. Part of her, a rather large part to be honest, wanted to simply drag him into the bedroom, but the last thing she wanted was to be interrupted by Sherlock. So, she contented herself to a gulp of wine and pointed to one of the island’s stools, “Sit,” she ordered. “You can keep me company while I finish dinner.”

Greg slid onto the chair smirking, “Gladly, but do you want any help?”

“No, I’ve got it. I haven’t gotten the chance to really cook in a while. This is nice.”

“Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” It came out in a nervous tumble and she couldn’t help but notice how flustered he got all of a sudden.

“I would love that.” His answering grin was radiant.

“Pick you up at 7:30?”

“Sounds good. And we don’t have to worry about an awkward first kiss. You took care of that rather neatly.”

“God, I planned to do this by the book, but seeing you tonight I couldn’t help myself.”

Eva circled the island and covered the policeman’s mouth with hers. After a few moments she pulled back, not trusting herself to kiss him as thoroughly as she’d like. “You’ll get no objections from me.”

Another lopsided grin that caused her stomach to roll unexpectedly, “Well alright then. Glad I didn’t screw this up with my impulsive mouth.” She forced herself to return to the task at hand.

It was a little disconcerting cooking with an audience, let alone Lestrade, but she managed without cutting off a finger. Although she couldn’t help but feel his gaze as she readied the meal. She hadn’t had company in the kitchen in a long time. Her last couple of boyfriends preferred to watch telly while she was cooking.

 It was nice to have Greg here, but she didn’t have him to herself for long. Molly knocked after only a few minutes and dragged a tall thin bloke behind her. Even coming through the door and divesting herself of her jacket Molly radiated a frenetic nervous energy. Maybe that was part of the reason she chose to work with dead bodies.

She introduced Kenneth to Eva and Greg, a note of pride in her voice. His tousled dark hair reminded her of Sherlock, but his personality seemed the polar opposite of the mercurial detective’s. He was shy, but he was clearly infatuated with Molly, his gaze kept returning to her. Eva was more than happy for her.

Eva got him to open up a bit when she asked him about his work. He was a book editor and his eyes shone through his horn-rimmed glasses as he talked about it. He brought Molly her drink and even offered to help Eva. She’d have to tell Molly later that he was a keeper.

The food was almost ready and the boys had yet to arrive. She almost sent Greg up to fetch them, but didn’t want to subject him to a potentially scarring scene. God only knew what they were up to. So, she slipped out of her apron and bounded up the stairs to get them.

The door to 221B was unlocked and she found them entwined on the couch. Sherlock was straddling the smaller man and looked like he was trying his damndest to devour him. Their clothes were still on, she noted with relief. “Oi! Come on you two.” As much fun as reading smutty Johnlock fanfic was she didn’t actually want to see it in person. It would have been beyond awkward now that she knew them. 

John at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but Sherlock just glared at her. “We didn’t think you’d miss us quite yet,” he said testily. 

“The food is almost ready. Shag each other’s brains out on your own time.”

“Fine. Just don’t get John drunk this time. He’s rubbish when he’s inebriated. Takes him absolutely forever to-”

“That’s enough of that Sherlock.” If possible, John’s face turned an even deeper shade of pink.

 Sherlock rose in that disconcertingly graceful way of his, smoothing the front of another dangerously tight shirt. Idly she wondered if he’d studied ballet at some point. His eyes darted over her taking in all those tiny details he specialized in. For once though he kept his mouth shut.

John was halfway down the stairs when Sherlock passed her in the doorway. He kept his voice low. “My, my Eva what _have_ you and the good DI been up to?”

She swatted him on the arm, but couldn’t muster any rancor to put behind it. If she didn’t know better she’d think Sherlock was teasing her. “Don’t say anything to John until later please. He’ll be shooting us his estimation of covert looks all night. You know he can’t be subtle about stuff like this. We haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

“Tomorrow I’d wager.”

“Got that from the length of my eyelashes did you?” They began their decent side by side.

“Why does everyone insist on mystifying my deductions?” He was exasperated, but she knew he secretly liked it when everyone assumed a detail was only visible to his keen eyes. “Lestrade actually has a rare day off tomorrow. It was a simple leap to assume he’d want to take you out then.” He continued as if he was reciting a chemical formula. “He is particularly fond of the color purple on women.”

“Er thanks for the tip Sherlock.”

“I know you’re partially responsible for me . . . well _getting_ John. I’ll always be grateful to you for that. That and I think you and Lestrade will be good for each other.”

They’d reached the ground floor and Eva impulsively stood on tiptoe to kiss Sherlock’s cheek before they descended the second set to stairs to 211C. “Thank you Sherlock.” He stiffened uncomfortably, but made no comment.

The dinner was lovely, if a little chaotic. Molly was obviously still processing the Sherlock and John as a couple thing and promptly spilled her wine when John absently took Sherlock’s hand during the meal.  Eva knew Molly no longer harbored a hopeless crush on the detective, but he did still fluster her to no end. Molly apologized profusely and offered to buy her a new tablecloth.  Eva insisted, “Molly its _fine_. That’s what washing machines are for.”

Sherlock did actually eat a child-sized portion of food, but that in and of itself was a miracle. John looked pleased and Eva was glad she’d asked him about Sherlock’s preferences before settling on a menu.

The consulting detective’s magnanimous behavior did, indeed, have its limits though. Shortly after John had finished his own serving Sherlock abruptly stood up. “Well we’re off.” He gave Eva a knowing half smile, “must finish what you so rudely interrupted earlier.”

John rose as well reminding her of Sherlock’s gravitational pull over the army doctor. He started to clear their plates, but Eva took them from him and placed them in the sink. John smiled apologetically when she returned to the table, “Sorry, but you know how he gets.”

“I am standing right here John.” Sherlock’s arms were folded across his chest and he wore a petulant look.

“Yeah well I still feel the need to explain when you’re being rude you great bloody git.” It was as if John had professed his love via a sonnet. Sherlock’s face broke out in a genuine ear splitting grin. Not the sickeningly creepy one he used when he was _acting_ happy, but an honest to God smile.

“It’s not as if we won’t see her nearly every day. She lives two floors below us.”

Despite Sherlock hovering near the door John observed the pleasantries. He shook hands with Kenneth, nodded to Lestrade, and gave Molly’s shoulder a quick pat. Eva, however, he pulled into an unexpected hug. He whispered in her ear, “Sorry, but would you pass up a chance to shag him?” She just laughed and pushed him towards his waiting boyfriend.

Molly and Kenneth left shortly afterwards. Eva judged by the look in Molly’s eyes that they weren’t headed home to watch _Glee_. She was alone again with Greg before she knew what happened. Without a word he started gathering glasses and plates. She busied herself wrapping up leftovers and giving the dishes a cursory rinse. Everything else could wait until later.

He wore a pensive look she couldn’t place. “I’m too old for you, you know.”

That was unexpected. “You trying to get me to back out of our date?”

“No, no I just . . .” his voice trailed off and he looked at her pleadingly.

“I’m 34 years old Greg. It’s not like I’m 22 and you’re 70.”

“Yeah well I’m a bit north of 34.”

She dried her hands on a nearby dishtowel, plucked the items from Greg’s hands, and put them on the counter. “Okay a couple of questions for you then.” He didn’t respond, so she continued, “Do you think my job is stupid?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“Didn’t say I thought it, I’m just confirming some details.”

“Okay.”

“Does the fact that I know more about computers than you’ll even hope to know bother you or make you feel emasculated in any way?”

“No.”

“Can you cope with the fact that I may work weird hours when I get wrapped up in a job?”

“Yes.”

“And the same goes for you when you’re on a case, right?”

“Yes.”

“Now this one is really important Greg so I need you to be completely honest with me.” He just nodded and she went on in a grave voice, “Do you like _Star Wars_?”

His eyes went wide and it took a few beats before he laughed, “Yeah.”

“Okay well you’re already miles ahead of most of the guys I’ve dated, so I’m good.”

His relief was palpable. They stood there grinning at each other like idiots for a few moments before she grabbed his shirt and pulled him to her. He ran a hand along her jaw and asked, “ _Star Wars_ huh?”

“Well it _is_ a masterpiece of American cinema.” She could feel the taut lines of muscle through the back of his shirt. His fingers were in her hair, freeing it from its clasp. They had yet to kiss, but stood a hairsbreadth apart lips almost touching. “I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank God.” Greg pulled her close, crushing their bodies together.


	9. Chapter 9

Eva floated on a post-coital haze she’d put up against any street drug. Best not say that aloud, lest Sherlock decide it would be a fine experiment. Greg had let himself in barely an hour earlier and slipped into bed with her. He hardly ever slept at his flat anymore, electing to spend his time away from work at 221C with her.

It was well past midnight, but Eva adjusted her schedule when they’d started dating. She was almost always awake when he got home. Greg never acknowledged it, but the way he looked at her sometimes when she was up waiting for him showed the gratitude he felt. The erratic schedule was one of the reasons his ex-wife paraded around when the affair came out and part of him still wondered if it was truly his fault. Eva’s aim was to prove that bitch wrong. It took a bit of finagling, but they’d found a rhythm that allowed them to see as much of each other as was possible.

Presently Eva was curled around Greg’s side, her head on his shoulder. She lazily nuzzled at the juncture of jaw and neck and Greg traced circles on her back. Their skin had finally cooled enough to warrant the comforter Greg snugged around them a few minutes ago. They were both warm and sated, enjoying the feel of being together.

Eva was completely content. This, of course, is when Sherlock sauntered into the room.

“Oi Sherlock! I’m . . . we’re . . .” Greg flailed around a bit, realizing there really wasn’t any _action_ for him to take short of vacating the bed and punching Sherlock in the face. He’d started to rise, but apparently dismissed that course of action.

“You’re both fully covered. Trust me, I have no wish to see either of you.”

“Timing Sherlock.” Eva said warily, pulling a tense Greg back down to his fully supine position. No need for either of them to be _physically_ uncomfortable. There was enough psychological discomfort to go around.

“Yeah we could have been-“

“No, not unless you were a much younger man Lestrade could you still have been actively engaged in coitus. Unless, you augment your sex life with pharmaceutical stimulants, which I will admit didn’t occur to me until now.”

Neither of them spoke, so Sherlock continued in with his logical litany. “You entered the flat one hour and twelve minutes ago. I factored in both your ages, Eva’s ovulation cycle which could affect her hormone levels, and a host of other variables. I _knew_ you’d be done by now.” The pale verdigris eyes ticked up to the ceiling for a moment and the tiniest of smiles graced his angular face. “Plus, John made me wait an additional twenty minutes to give you time to _cuddle_.” He made the word sound dirty, but John had confided that even consulting detectives like a good post-shag cuddle now and again. “John, by the way, wanted to make it quite clear that he was not in favor of me coming down here. He insisted that I tell you.”

“What in the hell couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning Sherlock?”

“Technically it is already tomorrow. Well, it’s today, but since you’re probably referring to yesterday-“

Greg had enough at that point and roared, “Sherlock!” At least he got the detective to shut his mouth. He continued in a softer tone, “Sherlock I’m sure this is important, but I’ll wager Eva doesn’t appreciate,” he waved a hand at Sherlock, “this.”

“Honey it’s fine. We’re covered and finished, as Sherlock pointed out, and look at him he’s practically about to combust he’s so excited. If we make him leave he’ll just make the rest of John’s night hell.”

“You sure, love?”

“Yes, just don’t make me move.” She wedged herself even closer to Greg and hummed with satisfaction when his hand again rested on her back. “I’m too comfortable to care a whole lot at the moment.”

“You’d better be glad my girlfriend is infinitely more patient with consulting detectives than I am.” Greg planted a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Now, spill it Sherlock.”

“I’ve solved your case.” As coldly logical as Sherlock presented himself there was a showman lurking just under the surface. The coat alone was tantamount to a cape. His pronouncement may well have been followed with a ‘Ta Da!’ for all the eagerness he showed.

“The high-end home invasions?”

“The very same. The robberies were only to disguise the culprit’s real purpose.”

“Which was?” As ridiculous as the situation was Greg was already in DI mode. If he’d been wearing trousers, or anything for that matter, he’d have produced his notepad and pen.

“The perpetrator was trying to retrieve evidence being used to blackmail someone.”

“So our suspect was being blackmailed?”

“No Lestrade, do try to keep up. The suspect was simply trying to stop the blackmail. The victims all belonged to an organization that brokered sexual encounters between members and their partners.”

“You mean swingers?”

“Yes, I believe that’s the term. From what I’ve gathered the transactions are very discreetly handled by the company and all members are required to sign a host of legal agreements to maintain everyone’s privacy. Recording devices of any kind are strictly prohibited, as the firm operates in the highest circles. However, one member, Sir Jeremy Hightower, appears to have broken the concordat and recorded a fellow Parliament member’s encounter with his wife.”

“So that MP is our guy.”

“No.” The tone of frustration was still there, but he was less abusive than he used to be. “Let me finish laying it out.”

“Hightower attempted to blackmail the second MP, a Lawrence Wiggington, in order to secure his vote on an upcoming piece of legislation. Wiggington immediately contacted the company, Butterfield Management Group, to report the breach of contract. But, Hightower kept all communications anonymous, so Wiggington had no idea who was blackmailing him.

“While BMG would have legal options due to the signed contracts it possessed a court case would endanger its sterling reputation for secrecy. So, Mr. Butterfield himself set about to find the evidence and destroy it before quietly ejecting Hightower from the club. He trusted nobody else with the job and perpetrated the robberies himself.”

Sherlock paused for the briefest of moments before he was off again. “As you can see by the number of home invasions he was a poor investigator, clearly having no clue who was behind the scheme. Would have done better just to hire me.” Sherlock’s acerbic personality may have been softened by John over the years, but nothing could damper his ego.

“So,” Greg started, wanting to put the pieces together, “this Butterfield chap was going after club members he suspected.”

“Yes.”

“Hightower could have destroyed the evidence, knowing that someone was targeting upper-crust swingers.”

“I don’t believe so. The membership roster is carefully guarded. Unless Hightower or his wife had congress with a particular member he wouldn’t know who the others are. I’m confident that you’ll find the blackmail materials in Hightower’s home and the missing valuables in Butterfield’s.”

“You think he kept all the loot?”

“Certainly, there was a kind of honor in Butterfield’s actions, at least in his own mind. He was probably going to return everything anonymously once the ordeal was settled. He’s a very wealthy man, and has no need of stolen jewelry and art.”

“Well alright then. I’ll see about getting search warrants in order in the morning.” Sherlock opened his mouth to, undoubtedly, remind Greg that it was already morning, but the DI stopped him. “And by morning I mean when it’s light out and other people are awake.”

“Oh, right.”

“Come by my office sometime this afternoon to make your statement. And you’d better be on time. Eva and I have dinner reservations tomorrow night.”

“Ah yes, your six month anniversary. John tells me most people celebrate such things. Lestrade you may as well move in here. It would be so much more convenient to know you’d always be downstairs, not that you’ve stayed at your flat much lately.”

Eva shook with laughter, realizing that this bizarre scene would probably become a semi-regular occurrence.  221 Baker Street would be a one stop shop for crime solving. They had an army doctor who was a crack shot with his illegal sidearm, a computer security expert, a Scotland Yard detective inspector, and a consulting detective/chemist/pathologist/mad scientist. If Mrs. Hudson continued to supply them with tea and biscuits they’d be unstoppable.

Something must have registered on Greg’s face while Eva was picturing that scenario. Sherlock interpreted, “No, no she’s not laughing at the idea of it. She’d say yes if you asked. In fact, I should think moving in together will be a moot point by this time tomorrow-“

Poor Greg Lestrade did have his limits. He grabbed a nearby throw blanket and stood, careful not to uncover Eva. The blanket was quickly wrapped around his midsection and he was on the move. “That’s it Sherlock, you’re done here! Go bother poor John or play the violin or anything else that will take you OUT of this flat.” Greg all but pushed the lanky man out of the bedroom.

Eva heard a short exchange of words in the sitting room, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. A minute later Greg reentered the room. He pulled his discarded trousers from the chair in the corner of the room and stood awkwardly beside the bed.  

“Well um,” he cleared his throat nervously, “I should have known if I didn’t cock this up that Sherlock would find a way to do it for me.” Unaccountably he rummaged in the trouser pocket. Eva wasn’t sure what was happening until he freed the blue satin box.

“I really wanted to do this properly, but Sherlock couldn’t keep his gob shut.” Greg dropped down onto one knee beside the bed. He looked ridiculous with a knit throw secured around his waist, but his expression was somber. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me Eva and I love you so, so much. Will you marry me?”

Eva was surprised she was capable of the nod she managed, because she was absolutely floored. Greg Lestrade wanted to marry _her_. After a few strangled attempts to speak she finally squeaked out a rather pathetic, “Yes.”

Greg’s beautiful brown eyes shone with pleasure and relief as he slipped the ring onto Eva’s finger.  She barely glanced at it before pulling him back to bed and soundly proved that no pharmaceutical sexual enhancers were necessary for Greg Lestrade.


	10. Chapter 10

It felt like she was draped in gauze when she woke. Eva couldn’t manage to open her eyes and felt like she was drifting. If she didn’t know any better she’d suspect that she was drugged. She and Greg must have been more energetic last night than she realized. This was the most blissed out she’d ever felt after sex. Apparently there were perks to getting engaged that she hadn’t anticipated.

After what felt like a very long time she regained control of her limbs. That must have been one hell of an orgasm. Moving her hand even one fraction of an inch, however, proved to be a monumental task that left her exhausted. Before Eva could wonder what that meant she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Curiously when she did finally rejoin the waking world she was assaulted with the smell of bleach. That was beyond odd, since she hadn’t remembered using it in at least a week. Must be Sherlock and another experiment she reasoned.

Sleep tried to drag Eva back down, but she resisted. It was probably very late and she knew she ought to get up. An arm flung out and groped in vain for Greg. Must have left for work already. After all, he had a lot to do before their dinner tonight.

A soft, faraway female voice interrupted her thoughts of Greg. “Eva sweetheart,” it had a Scottish lilt and was unfamiliar, “I need you to wake up dear.”

Eva’s tried to reply and ask the strange woman what she was doing in her flat, but found herself unable to perform such a simple task. She couldn’t even open her eyes. Panic settled in as she realized she didn’t have full control of her own body. Something was definitely wrong.

An insistent beeping invaded her awareness and again she heard the voice, “No need to get worked up dear. Just try to wake up.”

Why wasn’t anyone here? Where was Greg, or John, or even Sherlock?

Gradually more and more sensations crowded into her consciousness. She wasn’t in her bed, not even in the flat, and she wore a garment of scratchy cotton. She was cold now too, far from her cozy comforter and Greg’s warm arms. Why was her own body so unresponsive?

Again the voice tried to draw her out, “Come on Eva.” It was louder this time and she began to feel a gentle pressure on her right hand.

 Eva mustered all her strength and finally dragged her eyes open. The bright white room hurt her eyes, but she fought to keep them open. “There’s our girl. I know you’re tired dear, but try to stay awake as long as you can. Dr. Carr is on his way.”

This was going to be really difficult. Every instinct was telling her to go back to sleep, to that happy black stupor, but she fought it. The difficult part was that she had no concept of time. Eva already felt like she’d been awake for ages. Whoever Dr. Carr was he was taking his sweet time.

In an attempt to distract herself from the task at hand she turned her head to face the heretofore disembodied voice.

The woman was tall and thin with a shock of bright red hair. She looked to be in her late forties and sported a pink pair of scrubs. When their eyes met she smiled warmly. “Hello Eva. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Rose.”

She wanted to ask where she was, but the most that could be managed was, “Were m’ I?”

“Hush dear, you’re at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, safe and sound.”

Well at least she was at Barts, which gave her a small measure of comfort. Now, if only she knew how she’d gotten there.

Eva wanted to ask more questions, but the small effort had obviously already taxed her. Surely Greg was down the hall in a waiting room ready to see her when they let him in.

Another endless stretch of time before the fabled Dr. Carr appeared. Nothing special, just a middle aged man in a white coat. He studied the machines surrounding her, shined a penlight in her eyes, and checked her vitals. Before he left he conferred quietly with Rose. Of all the times to be effectively rendered speechless.

Rose returned briefly and praised her, “That was wonderful Eva, but we need you to sleep now.” First it was stay awake, now it was go to sleep. Couldn’t these people make their minds up? The indignation melted away though when she finally succumbed to the drowsy dark.

__

When next her eyes fluttered open she felt much more in control. Rose was again by her bedside, but in another set of scrubs. This time she chose a sickening shade of yellow. “Where’s Greg?” It came out a little slurred, but hopefully intelligible.

Rose promptly ignored her question and clasped Eva’s hand in her own. “Sweetheart I know this is difficult, but you’ve been asleep for quite a long time now.”

“How long?” She felt a stab of unease and wondered what the hell had happened to her.

“About fourteen months now.”

What? That couldn’t be possible. She was with Greg just yesterday.

“What happened?”

“You were hit by a car on your way to work Eva. There was a lot of head trauma and you were in a coma for such a long time.”

A coma. Wouldn’t Eva know if she’d been in a coma? There had to be some mistake.

“I want to see Greg.”

“You need your rest now Eva. Go back to sleep.” As much as she didn’t want to fall back into slumber her body betrayed her once again.

__

Eva surfaced once again, a knot already forming in her chest. This time she was alone though. The sliver of sky she saw through the polyester curtains told her it was night. It must have been well past visiting hours she realized. No wonder Greg wasn’t waiting at her bedside. Stupid hospital regulations.

She tried to sit up, but the strain must have been enough to spike her heart rate. An unfamiliar nurse bustled in and plunged a needle into her IV port. Before she knew it blackness was surrounding her again.

__

A horrible cycle began to develop. Eva woke for short periods of time only to be overwhelmed by fatigue before she learned any new information. It was absolutely maddening.

Finally she was able to sit up and felt stronger than she had in ages. Still weak as a kitten though, she thought bitterly. Rose entered and fluttered about checking her monitors.

“Eva you’re doing so well. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.” Rose proved to be the most relentlessly cheerful person she’d ever encountered. It was actually comforting. “I actually have a surprise for you dear.”

“What?” Eva was already so tired and a one word question was all she could manage.

“That show you like is back in a couple of weeks.”

“Show?” Already so worn out, but she fought to stay aware, sensing this was significant.

“That show on telly about Sherlock Holmes. We found the DVDs in your bag, so I figured you’d want to know. Something to look forward to.”

Rose prattled on, but Eva didn’t hear a word of it. It felt like someone had carved out a piece of her heart and left the gaping wound for all to see. The beeping intruded once again, signaling a spike in her heart rate. Eva squeezed her eyes shut, willing this all to be a horrible dream. 

They must have felt the need to sedate her again, because oblivion overtook her before she could get her thoughts in order.

__

The next time the fog receded she stayed awake for three full hours. It was absolutely the hardest thing she’d ever done. Rose didn’t see fit to give Eva any more ‘surprises.’ Good thing too, because she probably couldn’t have handled anything else.

The dull ache in her chest only intensified the longer she was awake. It seemed to punctuate her loneliness.  Eva couldn’t even bear to look at her left hand. She knew the ring wasn’t there, but somehow seeing it would make the nightmare all the more real.

Days passed in the same manner. Eventually the nurses made her get out of bed and hobble around. She was able to walk further and further every day. They were delighted, but she couldn’t be arsed to care. Whether by design or chance nobody visited her. It didn’t matter; she didn’t want to see anyone here. All her strength was concentrated on preventing the overwhelming tears from making an appearance. She wouldn’t cry, at least not yet.

By the time the third series premier date arrived she was able to walk on her own and stay awake almost all day. Everything still felt fuzzy around the edges, but it got a little easier all the time.

The nurses turned on BBC1 that night and promised not to disturb her one person viewing party. Eva forced a smile and thanked them for their consideration.

The first time she saw Greg on the tiny screen great wracking sobs overwhelmed her. It _hadn’t_ been a horrible dream. Actually it had, that was the problem. The last six months had all been in her head. There was no Greg, no Sherlock, no John, and not even Molly really existed. The panic she’d held at bay for the past few weeks overwhelmed her.

Eva felt truly, inexorably empty for the first time in her life. She’d been good and properly happy and it was all a goddamned dream. For the first time in such a long time Eva had a family. They were unconventional and mad, but they were hers. Now they were gone, hadn’t ever existed in fact.

That explained the all unanswered questions. Why her bank card had worked, why her smartphone still was able to access the internet, and a thousand other little inconsistencies that she’d ignored.

She mourned. Mourned the loss of Greg, he had been _her_ Greg. How could her mind have made all that up? The cases he told her about as they fell asleep together, the pride they’d both felt when the biology teacher was convicted, the glow she felt when he first professed his love. She could have stayed there, lived there.

The decision turned out to be an easy one. She made it before the credits even rolled.

Eva worked quickly to remove the sensors that now covered her body. The IV port was pulled out with little ceremony and no regard to pain. She didn’t have much time before the staff would descend on the room, alerted by those infernal machines.

Eva moved quicker than she had since she woke. Apparently a purpose was a good motivator. The stairs were problematic, but she couldn’t risk getting caught in the elevator.  How long it took her to climb the floors she couldn’t say, but she pressed on.

The roof was just as she remembered it. Of course it would be, since they’d actually filmed here.

The warm London air had a tang to it. Probably just pollution. Eva wasn’t used to if after so long in the sterile ventilated hospital. It really was pretty up here. The lights of the city spread out around her. How long had it been since she admired the skyline? Too long, but that's what happened when you lived somewhere a long time. You became inured to the beauty.

Her wretched, broken body forced her to rest. Was this what it was like to grow old? To feel utterly helpless as your body decayed around you? How hateful, to use Sherlock’s word.

She should have seen it sooner. Hadn’t he taken the case too easily, been a little to amiable, Lestrade had accepted her story too readily, right? Well, hindsight and all that. It had just been so incredibly seductive. That she, Eva, was able to insert herself into such an interesting story, even becoming a part of it.

But, that was gone now. An absence that grew with every second away from the warm Baker Street flat.

The remaining strength was spent getting to the ledge. It had to be the right spot. Near the phone booth that still sported signs attesting to Sherlock’s inexorable pull.

There was nothing in this reality for her. Eva said goodbye to her real family, to Mrs. Hudson, to the home she’d made, and lastly to Greg. More vibrant and real than anything she’d experienced since she woke up. Maybe, if she was very lucky, she’d see him again.

It wasn’t a difficult step to take in the end. After all falling was like flying wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simply for making it through this I want to thank you. I've read over this about 4000 times before deciding to post it, so any comments are more than welcome. No beta or britpicker, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> The Sherlock fandom is so wonderful and infinitely talented (way more than I'll ever be) and I'm so happy to be a part of it.


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